Journey to Babel
by whatshouldntbe
Summary: During the second year of her captaincy, Jim Kirk experiences a closeness with Spock that comes as a surprise to both of them. Now comes a whole turmoil of emotions for both of them as they delve deeper into this fated relationship. -fourth sequel-
1. Chapter 1

**Title:** Journey to Babel  
**Universe/Series:** Part Four of '_What Shouldn't Be_' series, Reboot/TOS  
******Rating:** NC17/R  
******Relationship status:** first time, unresolved sexual tension  
******Plot:** Love is a battlefield.  
******Warnings:** always!girl Kirk, angst, action, character death, language, references to past child abuse, rom-com humor, sexual situations, violence, possible amateur world-building  
******Additional Pairings:** Spock/Leila Kalomi (one-sided, unrequited)  
******Summary:** During the second year of her captaincy, Jim Kirk experiences a closeness with Spock that comes as a surprise to both of them. Now comes a whole turmoil of emotions for both of them as they delve deeper into this fated relationship.

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**Prologue**

**STARDATE 225312.11**

**Riverside, Iowa**

**Frank Emerson Residence**

Jim and Spock have their first argument as a couple.

This is how it happens.

When they returned to Earth, spent the majority of their time in their private quarters, putting all their belongings in cardboard boxes for the temporary move and refitting of the Enterprise. Jim hates packing, okay? There is literally nothing she can stand more. And of course Spock, being the proficient worker he is, manages to get all his packing done in just under six hours on the first day. Which is fine because she bullies him into helping her.

Jim is a woman of many tastes, and she likes to shop, even if she never really had the means to do such. Jim is cleverly fashion savvy, and she's made an art out of spending on a budget. Which is why she has an extensive collection of clothes, jewelry, and shoes. This is like a thing, okay?

Spock strongly urges her to pile all her belongings in separate quadrants defined either by design, color, or make. Jim jokingly makes a comment about how he better hope that she doesn't want to live with him one day because he would have to deal with her hording on a daily basis. Spock merely gets this confused look on his face and remarks how he finds it unlikely that such a minor habit would sully a desire for him to want to cohabit a place with her. Jim kind of gets all gooey inside at that and they end up making out in her walk-in closet when they should be focusing on the job at hand.

Eventually they refocus, and between the two of them, they are able to get over eighty boxes packed (with Jim being mindful enough to label each and every one of them in permanent marker). They don't worry about the furniture—apparently they would be getting new furnishings (based on their specific taste).

Speaking of which, Jim is not envious of Rand because he is in charge of handling and managing the crew's furniture requests. That's a lot of shit he has to submit to Starfleet, while staying within the designated budget so that all the orders wont eat away at the funds designated to it. Then again, Rand does love that kind of stuff. He is an administrative junkie.

But back to the point of how they have their first fight.

So after they packed all her belongings, they had a little conversation—well it started off as a conversation—about whether or not she should place her things in storage.

Spock makes a comment about the condo he has on the academy grounds, and how it has more than enough space for both his and her things. Jim likes the idea, of course she does, it's reasonable. It gives her less to worry about while she's in Iowa seeing to her uncle's affairs.

Now, Spock knows about the little exchange she had with Winona and Frank's lawyer. She had discussed it with him that very night over dinner, and the problem is that Spock believes he should go with her. She adores Spock, she really does—but what he doesn't realize is that wintertime in Iowa would be like the below freezing weather in Antarctica for Vulcans. Why would she willingly make him suffer through that while she makes Frank's house into a home for his daughter and arrange his funeral while enduring that side of the family in what is sure to be an awkward even, since she hasn't really gotten a chance to know any of them?

Spock is adamant that he joins her for consolation and support. He believed that it would be remiss of him to allow her to bear it all alone. She also gets the sense that he isn't too fond of long distance relationships, and neither is Jim, but he doesn't have to come. They spend the majority of the day going back and forth about the issue.

Jim is vaguely worried about Spock's tolerance for cold temperatures and he maintains that his anatomy will allow him to adapt in ways evolution has imparted in Vulcans the means to regulate their own body temperatures. This is how they end up shopping at a local store for winter garments. She makes Spock buy at least ten pairs of thick socks, six pairs of gloves, eight pairs of hats, three scarves, a set of thermal underwear and a shitload of sweaters.

A day later, and nonstop shuttle flight to Riverside, they pile their luggage in a trunk of a cab transport before climbing in the back seat. Jim gives the driver the address and does not send Spock worried glances every three minutes (except that she totally does).

Its frigidly cold like Jim expected, and even under her royal blue trench coat, orange gloves, scarf, and hat, she can still feel that cold biting into her skin with little pricks.

Spock is bundled in a dark brown, extreme thermal jumpsuit made of elastic gusset with a banded collar, and a two-way zip flap. He's got on white gloves with a matching hat, and Jim just finds it adorable as much as she finds it comforting that he is taking careful measures to combat the winter chill of Iowa. Sliding over, she leans against him and he places a heavy arm over her shoulders as the static of the radio chimes in the background.

Jim doesn't remember falling asleep, but she does, even in the short drive to her uncle's decrepit house, that at one point was shelter to her. She rubs her gloved fingers into her eyes as she stretches and yawns, watching through the frosted windows as Spock takes care of the fare and aids the driver in transporting their luggage to the top of the porch steps. When she feels awake enough, she slides forward and out the door, slamming it behind her as she treks up the concrete walk to join Spock.

The driver gives them a pleasant goodbye before he climbs back into the cab and drives off. Jim watches the silver tube disappear in the distance with a sigh as she tugs down her scarf from off her mouth. She gropes her pockets for her chapstick and runs it over her lips quickly.

Frank's lawyer was supposed to meet them so he could open the house and have Jim sign off on a few documents, including the death gratuity and pension, which would automatically be deposited in her account when she did so.

Jim would be lying if she said that she wasn't looking forward to that. When you grow up in poverty most of your life, scratching and stretching every thing you earn, the desire to be financially well off is a constant thought. She'll be able to do things she's wanted to do, now that she has to means to do it, and she wont feel guilty for superseding a budget or forcing herself to make do with what she has. It's surreal.

Donald pulls up a few moments later, decked out in a suit under a thick wool trench coat with a briefcase in one hand. He joins them on the porch and shakes Jim by the hand. "Ms. Kirk. It's nice to meet you in person," he says and nods to Spock.

"Likewise," Jim returns.

Donald pulls out a set of keys from his inner pocket and they jingle sharply as he unlocks the front door and let's himself in. The screen door squeaks and snaps shut noisily behind him.

"Do you want me to help you?" Jim asks as she indicates to their luggage.

"That will not be necessary," Spock assures. "I will manage this while you attend to your affairs."

Jim smiles and kisses him on the cheek briefly before she goes inside, plucking off her gloves, even though it feels as cold in the house as it does outside. She takes a moment to think about how it all looks the same as she remembers.

Donald is waiting for her in the living room, where the furniture is draped in white sheets. "Mr. Emerson spent the duration of his illness in a hospital," he explains when he notices Jim's wary glances around.

Jim nods and says, "So what do I sign?"

Donald puts his briefcase on the dusty coffee table and clicks it open. He pulls free his PADD and takes a moment to set things up before he hands it over to her with a stylus pen. "This is to confirm that you have accepted the responsibilities Mr. Emerson has prearranged to you. Scroll through please and when you come to a signature line, sign your name," he instructs.

Jim quickly scans the virtual documents and signs. When she finishes, she hands it all back.

"Thank you," Donald says as he double checks. "Good." He pulls up a new set of documentation before handing it back. "This is to confirm that you agree to use the awarded sum of 250,000 credits for the purpose of making Mr. Emerson's house presentable for his daughter and her family, and also for his funeral arrangements, which you understand specifies his desire to be cremated. Scroll through and when you come to the signature lines, sign your name."

Jim quickly scans the virtual documents and signs. When she finishes, she hands it all back.

"Thank you," Donald says as he double checks. He pulls up a new set of documentation. "And this is the end of it," he promises as he passes the PADD over to her once more. He explains, "Now, as George Kirk's sole heir, the following documents indicate your acceptance of the death gratuity awarded to you in the sum of 30 million credits plus an annual pension of 350,000 credits, which will be deposited to you at this date and time as soon as you sign. The time and date of these yearly deposits of the pension will be based on the time and date of which you signed your acceptance, so keep this day in mind for future reference."

Jim nods as she quickly scans the virtual documents and signs, ignoring the way her fingers tremble this time.

Donald shuffles through some papers in his briefcase.

When Jim finishes she hands it all back.

"Thank you," Donald says. He presents her with the papers in his hand. "Here is a hard copy of everything so that you can have it for your own archiving. I'm sorry for your loss." He gives her a final nod before he packs up his things and exits.

Jim stands there for a long while, and the weight of the situation kind of bears down on her. She tries not to think about how she might actually feel sad as she unwraps the scarf from around her neck and tugs off her hat, her hair falling around her shoulders like a golden curtain.

Spock quietly rests his gloved hand on the small of her back and he kisses the corner of her mouth. The kiss says, '_I am here.' _And when he pulls her close, resting his chin on the top of her head and she curls her fingers in the front of his jumpsuit as she squeezes her eyes shut against the tears, his embrace says, '_You are not alone._'

Despite it all, despite the fussing and the back and forth they went through to get here—Jim, in that very moment, is so very glad that Spock stubbornly held his ground and accompanied her. After all, this wasn't supposed to be difficult. She wasn't supposed to feel anything about Frank's absence.

But that's just the problem. Even in all the horrible things he's done to her, in the end he had tried to do right by her—he had showed himself to be human. And that's whom Jim weeps for—the person that Frank was in the end, that person before the world twisted him into something cruel.

She sniffs as her tears chill into icy trails down her flushed cheeks and she chews on her bottom lip to keep from making a sound.

Spock tightens his hold and his lips shape over the words he whispers into her hair. He takes a moment to remove his gloves, ignoring Jim's watery protests, and he cups his pale hands over the curve of her jaw, tilting her head up so that he can look into her blue eyes. His mouth folds into a grim frown and his brow furrows with his upset as he studies her flushed face. In Vulcan, he says, "_It grieves me to see you suffer._" He gently pushes her bangs out of her eyes. "_It is because you are mine, that I share in this pain as well._"

Jim hiccups as she looks at him with trembling lips because his words are cutting into the vulnerable pockets of her heart and under his probing gaze she can establish no defense against it. She makes a small sound as he kisses the corners of her eyes while tears leak down her cheeks from under her wet lashes.

"_I grieve with thee,_" Spock whispers into her forehead before she wraps her arms around his neck and hides her face in his shoulder.

Jim cries for a good fifteen minutes. It lessens the dull ache sitting on her chest and in her gut. She's definitely lighter afterwards, when she finds the strength to pull away and wipe her face clean with the tissues Spock retrieves for her. She exhales heavily as she blows her nose and sniffs, feeling distinctly swollen about the eyes and the inside of her throat.

"God," Jim mumbles nasally. "This is going to be a nightmare." She takes a moment to look around as she sniffs. She sighs as she feels a headache coming on. "I'm going to need at least a foot of interior decorating catalogs." She sniffs again and balls up the used tissue in her hand. "I think we should start in the basement. See if we can't get some heat going."

Spock inclines his head.

Jim unbuttons her trench coat with a sigh as she evaluates a proper game plan in her head. In three weeks, the Emerson clan (not to mention Winona) would be traveling over to attend Frank's funeral, and she had to make sure everything was presentable long before then.

There was so much to do, and little time to do it.

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**Author's Note: **_Might be a while before you get the first chapter. I start school tomorrow and I don't doubt that it will take up a majority of my time. Please comment and remind me not to abandon or completely forget about this series._


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter One**

Jim is apprehensive about trekking down into the basement. Only because she knows nothing but dust, dirt, and grime await her. But to be truthful, those things will be there no matter where she goes in this house. It's also way too early. Like six in the morning early.

Maybe she should take a nap before she tackles this house.

Jim sighs and tries to perk up by grabbing the small energy drink in one of the pockets of her luggage. She downs it as Spock watches her curiously, and then she makes a gesture for him to follow her.

Beside the doorway of the kitchen, there is a door right under the stairs. On the other side lies the stairs that lead down into the basement. She opens it and tugs on the chord that is connected to the exposed bulb. It doesn't come on but Jim is not surprised at all.

Jim sighs and turns to face Spock, who is right behind her. "So it looks like we're gonna need some flashlights because apparently the electricity is turned off," she explains and she goes around him and heads into the kitchen to rifle through the cabinets. "Or maybe Frank just neglected to pay the bill. Hopefully that's not it," she mutters as she comes across only one flashlight. She switches it on and hits the head of it against the curve of her palm before it flickers to life. "Only found the one," she says, holding it up apologetically.

"I will adapt," Spock assures as he patiently awaits her approach.

"Right," Jim says with a slight smile. She gestures to her own eyes. "I forgot you're a bit more enhanced than the average person."

Spock merely steps aside so that she can make the descent first.

Jim aims her flashlight carefully on the steps and takes them one at a time. The stairs creak and whine and groan noisily under her feet. "Definitely need to install new steps. This feels like old wood," she comments idly as she makes it to the bottom.

She aims the flashlight all around, taking in the oatmeal grey cement walls and floors. There are browned boxes, crates, and dusty furniture like old lamps and dressers. There's definitely a lot more cobwebs than she's comfortable with, and near the front direction of the house lies the furnace beside a yellowing dual washing machine.

"Why don't you go see what you can do with that furnace and I'll go hunt down the fuse box," Jim suggests and Spock inclines his head. She makes her way towards the back of the house and finds the fuse box in some odd corner. She does her best to juggle the flashlight and tamper with the fuse box. It takes exactly three and a half tries before the lights flicker on and the whole house whirrs to life with the buzzing hum of electricity.

Jim sighs and snaps the small steel box shut before she spins on her heel with the intention of checking on Spock. She doesn't really get two steps before she's tripping over a box and falling haphazardly on her side with a sort pterodactyl screech she immediately flushes over. Without missing a beat, she quickly says, "I'm okay! Not hurt, um, just fell over. Pretend you didn't hear me make that sound."

Spock is silent for a short period before the sound of him shifting away echoes, which means Jim was right to reassure him because he was coming over to check up on her. "Please be more careful," he urges. He waits two seconds before he adds, "Though I find it highly intriguing you are capable of such noise."

Jim scowls because she can hear the amusement somewhere under that stoical tone. "You can just shut up over there," she grumbles as she climbs to her feet and dusts herself off. She blows out a breath before she aims her flashlight in the direction of the culprit. It turns out to be a cardboard box full of photo albums. "Huh," she mutters thoughtfully as she drops down to her knees and starts to fiddle through it.

There is a mahogany album with embossed vines at the very top of the stack.

Jim flips it open and shines her flashlight over it, fingers tightening over the handle in surprise. It's a picture of Frank and Winona. Frank is in his football uniform, facing the field while he leans forward against the fence with Winona on his shoulders.

(**_picture from above scene can be found in my livejournal or AO3 account in the same chapter_**)

**_-Frank and Winona, Age 14 and 7_**

Jim feels her brow furrow and she studies the photo with a sort of detachment. Finally, she turns shuts it before she returns it to the box with a deepening frown. She doesn't really feel up to looking at any of these photos. She stands just as she hears Spock's approach.

"I was unable to obtain a response from the furnace. It would appear that it requires a great deal of maintenance and hardware, which I am unable to provide," Spock explains as she turns to him.

Jim nods quietly and tucks her hair behind her ears before she folds her arms over her chest, pressing her lips together tightly.

Spock must detect something in her expression because he gives a thoughtful pause as he studies her. "Are you well?" he asks softly.

Jim taps her foot and shakes her head with a quick shrug. "Um," she mutters as she looks around and tries gathers her thoughts. "Could you—grab that for me?" she asks as she points to the box full of albums. "I want to bring it upstairs." She looks around as she before she nods. "Uh, yeah." She shakes her head before she begins to walk up the stairs again.

Spock follows her shortly after he retrieves the cardboard box from the floor. When they reach the living room, he places it on the floor beside the coffee table.

Jim sits down on the couch with her PADD and pulls up the directory app, entering her current zipcode in order to locate certain businesses.

Spock sits down beside her and watches her do so.

"So I was thinking that you and I could go into town and do just a little bit of shopping," Jim says as she pulls up the directory site for a mobile device store. "I think you and I should get better communicators, like ones with a touchscreen and everything. Just to have a better way of communicating with our friends and family. I mean I know Starfleet gave us one of theirs but this—" She holds up her current communicator. "Is so grossly out of date." She takes a moment to look at him. "I don't know. What do you think?"

"I have often noted that this version is not without its limits and has unbearable tendencies that frequently act as a hindrance. Therefore I am amenable to this suggestion."

Jim smiles and says, "Awesome. I'll get us a cab."

Thirty minutes later finds Spock and Jim in the heart of Riverside, stepping out of a cab and onto the crowded sidewalks. The little town is as busy as ever, which forces Spock and Jim to stick close, lest they lose each other in a sweeping crowd. To be truthful, she doesn't mind, because that means she gets to lace her gloved fingers with his and squeeze as tight as she wants.

Jim watches innate curiosity ride over the indifferent planes of Spock's face as he observes her hometown and the people and little shops therein. Jim is used to all this busyness, just for the simple fact that it always was this way during the incoming weeks of Christmas.

The heart of Riverside is really quite a sight during the winter season. There are all sorts of Christmas lights and decorations dressed over the leafless trees and brick buildings and the elongated poles from the light lamps. In the very center of the town is an overly large Christmas tree, completed with festive decorations, lights and a big gleaming star on top.

Jim quietly sets aside a mental reminder to drag Spock down to one of Riverside's many holiday festivals. She has a sneaking suspicion he has never really been to one, nor has he seen a proper Christmas lights show.

They find the store they're looking for eventually and they glide through the glass double doors as an inviting cloud of warmth barricades them.

A sixteen-year-old girl, with a nametag and a uniform, instantly sweeps up to them with an eagerly cheerful smile. She adjusts a pair of reindeer antlers in her short, spiky red hair and glances between them. "Hi, my name is Janelle. I'd be happy to assist you," she says.

"So here's the thing, Janelle," Jim says with a friendly grin. "The communicators we currently have is wildly out of date and we're looking to upgrade to the best mobile device you have in stock."

Janelle gives a smiling nods. "Well I can certainly help you with that. If you can follow me to my station we can get you all sorted out," she says and gestures for them to follow.

Jim tugs Spock along to the far right of the room where they stand on the other side of Janelle's touchscreen console.

Janelle uses the middle fingers of both her hands to pull up different models before she meets their eyes. "Now before you get started, I like to really get to know my customers so I can better serve them. If you feel I'm getting too personal just say so and I will readjust the foot I've stuck in my mouth," she jokes. "Also, you should be aware that all of our conversations are recorded for any future references or discrepancies. Is that okay?"

Jim nods with a shrug, while Spock chooses not to comment.

"Cool," Janelle says distractedly as she moves her fingers over her touchscreen console and pulls up a virtual keyboard and a profile page template. "Alright, so are both of you getting mobiles or is it just one person?"

"Both," Jim replies.

Janelle nods and pulls up an additional profile page template. "And do you want them to be on a joint account, or separate accounts. I can tell you now that you'll save a lot more if you do a joint family plan and also, there will be additional features offered to you because of that."

Jim takes a moment to slip her hand free from Spock's so she can take off her gloves and unbutton her trench coat. She glances at Spock and says, "I don't know how you want to do this. Either way is fine with me if it's okay with you."

Spock is thoughtfully quiet for a moment before he replies, "I trust your judgment on the matter."

Jim ends up scoffing and rolling her eyes. "That better not be your response for every question I ask you."

Janelle snickers as she eyes them fondly. "Don't worry. I get all kinds of couples coming in and usually it's the woman that's setting everything up." She smiles and continues, "So I'm just going to go ahead and make it a joint account. Basically you'll be sharing links, and information and so on and so forth. Um, okay. So I'll need your names and places of residency."

"My name is James Kirk and this is Spock," Jim introduces as she makes gestures between them.

Janelle nods and quickly types it in.

"I don't have a place of residency, so, I guess we can put your condo down," Jim suggests.

Spock spends the next moment giving Janelle the address to his condo, which resides on the grounds of Starfleet Academy.

"Just so you know, you get a discount for your affiliation with Starfleet," Janelle informs as she quickly types. "And in saying that, I'm guessing that you have a lot of friends and family that are off-planet, which means you need the kind of coverage that can cater to that. So I'm going to add that onto your account. And if you happen to have your old communicators with you, I can transfer all the data into your new ones, and also wirelessly pull from your PADDs if you have some. I just need the link codes for any and all of them."

Spock surrenders his old communicator and gives the link code to two of his PADDs.

Jim on the other hand, after surrounding her old communicator, shoots off several link codes to at least seven of the PADDs that she owns.

Janelle and Spock both give her amusedly measured looks.

"What? I like to have PADD for everything," Jim mutters defensively.

Janelle smiles and says, "Well, once you pick out the model you want, I'll make sure that it's directly linked with all of your electronic devices for easy access and sharing." She drags over the virtual 3D models that are already hovering over her console. "Here are our four most popular and current models."

Jim takes a moment to each and every one. "Which one would you recommend?"

"Well," Janelle starts. "I usually tell my customers to go for the _Tyson Blue_ because it's a juggle between personal entertainment and work. Now from what I know of you two, I can tell that you're both _really _kind of tech savvy, highly perceptive, and your line of work affords you a lot of intergalactic traveling. So what I would say is that you pick the _Phoenix_." She sweeps away the other models and leaves the one she's describing. "It's really light weight, which makes it very easy to carry around. It's got an unshakeable locater chip, so if it gets lost or stolen, we can track it down no matter where it is. That's something I find to be very useful if your life was in danger and no one had a clue where you were. We would be able to use this and find you. Um, and it's sleek—it's has the width of a saltine cracker, and I want to say the length is about the very bottom of your palm to the top of your pinky finger." She holds up her hand and demonstrates. "So like that."

Jim looks down at her own hand thoughtfully. "Yeah, okay. I can see that." She drops her hand. "Do you have something solid we can look at?"

"Of course," Janelle says as she types in a chain of code before she disappears in the back and reappears with two red boxes. "Now the choice of color and if you want a case with the communicator is totally up to you. This is just our most basic one, so it's grey with a silver finish. People tend to prefer the white though."

Jim peers into the box after Janelle opens it and she pulls it out. She's surprised how light it feels, almost like holding a feather. And it does look nicely sleek, with the screen panel, which has amazing definition. She takes a moment going through it, liking it more and more as she goes deeper into the software. "Okay, I am completely sold on this," she says, enthralled. She looks over to Spock who is observing his own. "This is way cool. You have to admit that."

"This model is infinitely more viable than the one in our current possession," Spock notes in that detached way of his, but he's not fooling Jim for a second.

"You totally agree with me," Jim laughs before she looks to Janelle. "That's his Vulcan way of complimenting something. He totally agrees with me. We're going to get these."

Janelle beams. "That's great. I'll ring you up and we can talk data plans."

"It's whatever. Money isn't an issue." Jim takes a moment to grin excitedly. "Oh my God, I have waited _forever _to say something like that. I sound so rich right now."

Janelle laughs and shrugs. "Well, it's like my mom says—if you have it, enjoy it."

"Yes, exactly. I plan on doing just that," Jim promises with an indulgent grin. She goes on to say, "Do you have an automatic payment system?"

"We sure do. Is that how you want to set it up?"

Jim nods.

Spock frowns thoughtfully. "Jim, you do not have to—"

"Yes I do," Jim cheerily interjects. "Come on, Spock. It's nothing. Really. Let me do this. I want to do this. It's no big thing."

Spock has that look about him again. Like he wants to argue, but merely resigns to the fact that it would not be wise, and so he nods wordlessly.

Jim taps the tip of her nose twice before she winks and turns to give her full attention to Janelle. "Right, so this can all be charged to my account."

Janelle nods and the next few moments are spent setting up everything and making sure things are in order. When all is said and done, she says, "Now I added my comm link in both of your devices just in case you need me for any reason or tech support, or if you decide you want to upgrade to the latest model, should any arrive. So, if you don't have any questions, you're all set."

Jim shakes her head, already fiddling and tweaking with her new communicator. "I'm good," she swears.

Spock merely inclines his head, and like Jim, he's modifying his new communicator to his liking.

"Great, and um, one more thing—I feel totally embarrassed for asking but I know my little sister will kill me if I don't at least get a picture and an autograph," Janelle admits sheepishly.

Jim blinks with halfhearted surprise. "Uh, yeah. Sure."

"Thanks, and I'm sorry," Janelle quickly stands between Jim and Spock, holding out her own mobile communicator as she takes a few pictures. Then she pulls out a stylus pen and hands it over to Spock so that he can sign the photo on the screen of her communicator, then he passes it over to Jim so she can do the same. "Thank you. My sister is going to freak. She loves you guys and she really looks up to you especially," she gushes, indicating to Jim.

Jim gives a polite smile. "Well tell you sister I said stay in school, don't do drugs, and inhale chocolate by the dozens."

Janelle laughingly nods.

Jim then loops her arm with Spock and quickly herds him out of the store before anyone else gets bold enough to petition them for signatures and pictures. "Okay that was interesting," she says when they make it a block away from the store. "I haven't had that happen since this summer when I went beach hopping."

Spock says, "I am not commonly approached. Perhaps, for the simple fact that I contest such actions with undisguised disapproval. This usually cows any attempts. It would seem that in your company they are compelled to try anyhow."

Jim grins and knocks her shoulders into his. "Are you trying to say that I make you look less intimidating then you usually do?"

"Not in those exact terms," Spock carefully confirms.

Jim just laughs, and that puff of air comes out in a thin, white cloud formed by the bitter cold. She clings to his arm tighter as she says, "I wanna buy a car. I'm tired of cabs."

Spock lifts a brow in question but he doesn't protest when she drags him to a nearby car lot.

Jim wasn't kidding when she said she wanted to buy a car. She actually does because she _can._ Because she's always _wanted_ _to_ but couldn't. So because she's a sucker for vintage, and like her dad, has a thing for Chevrolet models, she buys a custom-made cherry red 2013 Chevrolet Trax. She's practically bouncing out of her boots by the time the salesman hands over her keys and she wastes no time climbing in.

Spock is openly amused by her giddiness.

"Can you smell the leather?" Jim asks as her eyes began to water. She starts the car and the engine purrs to life, causing the console behind the steering wheel and the radio touch screen, and temperature control dials just above the cup holders, beside the stick shift, to light up. "Oh my God, I am like full on crying now—I am so happy. Merry Christmas to me."

Spock looks slightly concerned. "This has always been an endeavor of yours I gather," he reasons.

Jim nods as she sniffs and wipes her eyes clean. "I have always wanted to be able to buy my own car and not lease or have millions of payments to make. Just, completely buy on the spot. I thought I would have to wait years, like, at the end of our five year mission to do something like this and now that I—" She falters shakily. "I'm sorry. This all so much. I mean—I've come into a good amount of money, I'm a Captain of one of the best space vessels, and I have you now and it's just—all so much. Good things never happen for me like this. And it worries me that something is going to go wrong."

"You are not baseless in your suspicions. Your history will have provided enough evidence of such negative occurrences," Spock says and he places a hand over hers. "However, you are more than deserving of 'good things' and never any less. If need be, I will take it upon myself to be sure that you receive them and that you are happy, all the days of your life."

Jim inhales shakily before she gives a weak smile. "That almost sounded like a proposal," she quietly comments.

"It is a promise. We need not be together in order for me to fulfill the conditions of it," Spock specifies.

Jim grabs his hand and hugs it to her chest. Her heart feels drunkenly warm and her mouth is sore from all the smiling, but in this small moment, she is happier than she can describe. Finally, she lets out a content sigh before she lets go of him and focuses on driving to the nearest store for cleaning supplies and the like.

Spock is there for her the whole time, quiet and attentive.

It's more than Jim thought she could ever deserve.

888

By the time (which is fairly noon exactly) they make it back to the house, Jim is edging into a thick cloud of exhaustion and she doesn't feel up to doing anything, but she knows she has only so long before her family comes around for Frank's funeral.

The house is a five bedroom, three-story structure (counting the basement as the first floor), and between Spock and Jim, she thinks they can get it done.

"I think we should start on the basement and work our way up. Once we reach the top and everything is cleaned and cleared, I'll know just what I'm dealing with and if I'm going to have to contract some outside help to fill in the rest," Jim says as they trek into the basement with buckets, mega sponges, yellow rubber gloves, surgical masks, broom/mop, and cleaning agents.

They don't start cleaning right away. First they have to clear the space of all the clutter.

Jim goes through all the boxes and crates and tells Spock what's trash and what's being kept. He refuses to let her lift anything heavy and will quickly reprimand her in Vulcan if she even tries.

Spock is adorable but he's exasperating.

But anyway, it takes a few hours before they've cleared the basement out (broken washing machines and all), and get to the actual cleaning. It's pretty gross. They find more dead bugs and animals than Jim is comfortable with.

"I swear when I buy my own house, it's not going to be one of these fixer-uppers. I want a clean, brand new house," Jim mutters from behind her mask as she and Spock mop the cement floors. "This is beyond the scope of gross, and we've only just done the basement! How did I ever even live here?"

"It was not always this way," Spock decides, and by his tone, he must be pulling from a recalled memory of Jim's.

Jim sighs as they finish. "Yeah. It didn't," she quietly agrees and tries not to become nostalgic. She exhales before she lowers her mask and takes off her rubber gloves. "Well, now that, that's done, I am starving." She turns and grabs all the cleaning items on the way back upstairs. "I think I saw some menus in the kitchen. How do you feel about Thai?"

"Relatively indifferent, as I have yet to partake of that particular style of cuisine," Spock responds flatly.

Jim snorts and dumps everything in her hands at the base of the stairs, which lead up to the third floor. "I think you'll find yourself pleasantly surprised. Or not. Either way, I know that's what I want and if you don't like it you're just going to have to figure something out."

"Your hospitality is inspiring," Spock murmurs as he watches her fish her communicator out of the back pocket of her jeans.

Jim just gives him the synthetic smile of a six year old before she goes hunting for some menus. She tucks away in the kitchen and orders several dishes, because despite what she said, she really does want Spock to have a lot to choose from. After she rambles off an address and pays for it, she ends the conversation with a thoughtful frown because, well—she hears music.

There's no mistaking it though. It's_ Flip, Flop and Fly _by Big Joe Turner.

Jim swaggers into the front room to find Spock facing away from her in front of the old jukebox that Frank used to fiddle with when he was overtly intoxicated. He seems to be studying the large cherry oak device with a great deal of thought and curiosity.

_You're always so curious_, she thinks fondly as she saddles up beside him and studies it as well.

"What is this device called?" Spock questions with a furrowed brow.

"It's a vintage jukebox. And a bit of an eyesore if you ask me," Jim replies as she folds her arms.

Spock says nothing. He just goes on gazing at it like he's trying to figure it out. Maybe he is.

"I'm surprised you don't know what this is. There's a ton of these back in San Francisco. Just find the right bar," Jim says.

"I do not frequent bars," Spock merely states, not unkindly. "I would not have seen one."

"Well, there's not much to it. You seemed to have figured it out, if the music is any indication," Jim notes and leans forward so she can get a better view of his face. He seems almost distracted by the sound and that makes her smile. "Spock—do you like this music?"

Spock seems to come to himself at that and he takes a step back. "It is rather—fascinating."

"Oh yeah?" Jim challenges and switches to another song of the same style. He gets that look on his face again—like he's entranced by the sound. She laughs happily and says, "If I didn't know any better, I'd say you like the Blues."

"Blues?" Spock echoes with unconcealed confusion.

"It's a type of music genre," Jim explains. "Frank was a Rhythm and Blues guy too. That's why you'll find nothing but that in this old jukebox." She takes a moment to think. "How about we let these songs play out while we clean. Just to see if everything works. If it does, we'll move it down to the basement."

Spock considers it for a fraction of a moment before he says, "Very well."

Jim turns away and secretly smiles as they get to work cleaning the kitchen. They get about halfway into being finished before the doorbell rings. When she goes to answer it, she sees that it's the Thai food she ordered. She signs for it and carries it all into the kitchen, placing it on top of the table.

It's a little after eight around this time.

They don't say much as they eat. Jim's content in not saying a thing. She's too busy watching Spock's reactions to both the food and the music. It seems that he's enjoying the music more than the food, but he isn't complaining otherwise so she takes that as a good sign. He also appears to lean more towards the red curry and the Pad Woon Sen noodles sans eggs.

Jim's personal favorite is the crab Rangoon and the spicy bamboo chicken.

When they finish, they dump the leftovers, because honestly, they have no fridge to keep it in. And the one in the kitchen doesn't work at all.

Speaking of, Jim finds the inside of that refrigerator to be the grossest thing she's come across by far. She immediately asks Spock to throw the whole thing away because there was no way they were going to salvage that.

While Spock hauls it out the backdoor with his Vulcan strength, Jim fights the urge to gag at what awaits her underneath. She doubles up on rubber gloves, surgical masks, and practically passes out from all the bleach she uses to get that one area clean. When she's done, she makes Spock mop the floors before she moves on to the dining room, which is paradise compared to the basement and the kitchen.

The jukebox shifts into another song.

Jim uses the strength of her hands and hips to slide the furniture across the floor and out of her way. There is a dank rollout carpet underneath the dining table that she's trying to get to because, ew, that needs to go. She decides to keep the long farmhouse table made from knock-off wood because although it doesn't fit the style of house at the moment, it certainly is a keeper, as well as the coinciding chairs that go along with it.

She has Spock sweep and mop the dining room floor before she moves onto the front room, which is right across the way. Jim tries to bodily move both the couch and the old TV with a whole bunch of grunting until it attracts Spock's attention and he ignores her protests when he effortlessly lifts the entire thing and takes it out the back with the rest of the furniture they're getting rid of.

When he returns, she sticks her tongue out at him and he cleverly follows that tongue back into her mouth for a glorious five minutes until she forgets why she's annoyed with him in the first place. He pulls away and goes back to mopping while Jim stands and watches him, sucking on her bottom lip until she can't taste the sharp flavor of red curry. After which, she focuses on carrying the small coffee table out the backdoor and chucking it with the rest of the pile. She then clears off the mantle over the fireplace and the two walls of built-in bookshelves that the fireplace is sandwiched between.

Jim doesn't even have to say anything when she finishes because Spock is already there, sweeping and mopping like a good little helper. She snickers to herself and purposefully bumps her shoulder into his while she passes him and says, "I'm going to go start on the rooms upstairs."

Spock inclines his head in understanding as the jukebox shifts into the next song.

Jim pays special attention to the way the stairs creak noisily under her feet and makes a mental note to call a carpenter/architect type person first thing in the morning. She stands right at the top of the steps glancing from one end of the hall to the other. It takes her a moment, but she comes to the decision to just deal with Frank's room first. His room is on the east side of the house and as she opens the door she realizes that this is the master bedroom.

The room smells musty and strongly of liquor. The floor is littered with crumpled beer cans and empty whiskey bottles. The bed is a California king style and covered in mounds of tattered sheets and comforters. Luckily enough, the entire frame and the headboard (which is a cherry finish) are in good condition, but the mattress is in an unpleasant state. There is a nightstand on the left side of the bed with a small lamp and a framed picture on top. Besides the bed and that nightstand, that's the only furniture in this room.

Jim walks over to the walk-in closet, which is on the right side of the room. It's a sizeable one that even Jim can appreciate, but there is a clutter of clothes everywhere (things like plaid shirts and jeans and tanks and hiking boots). Frank was never one for fashion. And when she flips on the light switch, a handful of moths go scattering.

"Oh gross," Jim groans as she bats them away and quickly sprints to the other side of the room to lift open the window and let them out. She brushes herself off before she heads into the bathroom, only to spin right around and dry heave. Though the bathroom is large, with a walk-in shower to one side and a Jacuzzi tub on the other with a two sink mirror against the wall in between them—it's also a disgusting mess of muck, old throw-up, piss and shit, and a number of revolting (and questionable) fluids.

Jim shudders and tries to mentally prepare herself as she goes back downstairs to grab a bucket with all the cleaning products. She puts on a pair of rubber gloves and triples up on the surgical face masks (she can barely breathe but dear God is it worth the risk). She really girds her loins and tackles the bathroom first before she does anything else.

Spock finds her on the floor, scrubbing and muttering swear words in French, Latin, and Japanese. "Jim?"

Jim jumps slightly and quickly waves him away. "Oh my God, don't come in here. I don't want you to see me doing this. This is super _fuc_—just like go and um, pick up all the beer cans and bottles. And throw out that mattress and the covers on it too. And the clothes in the closet. Kay, thanks!" She stands and slams the door in his face before he can get a word in edgewise.

Jim listens carefully and waits until she hears his footsteps wander away from the door. She sighs and walks over to the small window resting over the Jacuzzi tub and lifts it open, while also switching on the air vent. After all, she doesn't want to pass out from the mixture of cleaning fumes.

By midnight, Jim has that bathroom scrubbed from top to bottom and looking brand _fucking _new.

She throws open the door, even as her hands, knees, and lower back aches, and finds Spock finishing up with his sweeping and mopping of the room. "I just want to lay down and sleep," she says tiredly as she leans against the frame of the door. She then frowns deeply. "Actually, scratch that. I just want to take a billion showers."

"The plumbing is defective," Spock reports with a vague hint of apology.

"Yeah, I know," Jim admits, frowning even deeper. They'd been using water from a five-gallon bottle she'd purchased. "I already called a local plumber and left a voicemail. Hopefully someone should be out first thing in the morning."

Spock returns the mop back into the bucket of murky water. "Would you like to rest?" he asks.

"Well, yeah, but I really just want to get the rest of this cleaning done more than anything," Jim says as she grabs her bucket. "I think I'll be fine. I'm a little tired, but I have enough energy left over to tackle the rest of these rooms."

Spock studies her carefully but he does not contest the point.

"And thank you for helping me do this. You could be doing anything else," Jim supposes but she smiles gratefully.

"Contrary, I find this side of you intangibly intriguing," Spock returns and his dark eyes warm perceptibly with amused fondness. "It is not what I would consider to be a hardship, Jim."

Jim goes a little pink and her mouth wiggles into a grin. "Yeah, well," she mutters and shrugs sheepishly. "It's not fun. It's really boring and simple."

"And yet I am still appreciative of the privacy it affords us," Spock counters cleverly.

Jim quivers a little, and she feels a sharp flare of heat sear into her lower gut. She bites her bottom lip before she says, "I really want to kiss you, but I am so super gross right now."

Spock's lips twitches but he chooses not to comment.

"Okay, let's get a move on before I get lazy," Jim advises and they trek to the next room.

Fortunately the room beside Frank's is already empty (no furniture, no anything), and it just needs a bit of dusting, sweeping, and mopping. The same can be said for the third room and the fourth room.

The fifth room, the last room on the floor, is Jim's old bedroom.

This room is also pretty clean. Jim had cleared it out and tidied it up before she moved out and into the border house on the other side of Riverside. She's actually genuinely surprised that it's still neat, since she was so sure that Frank would have rampaged through this room after she left like he did so many times before.

Yet all she finds is a barren mattress on a white wood frame, it's matching white dressers, and small closet, which is also empty. Even so, they still go about the motion, wiping everything down, and sweeping the floor before it gets mopped.

It's practically two in the morning when they officially finish with the cleaning but Jim is dazedly satisfied, even as she yawns and stretches while handing Spock her bucket with a promise to meet him downstairs.

She spends a couple of minutes going through each room again just to switch off the lights. When she makes it to Frank's room, she turns off the bathroom light and the closet light. Then she walks over to the nightstand with the intention of turning off the lamp, but she notices, for the first time, the picture in the frame. She picks it up and studies it closely, frowning because it prods at her mind for some reason. She chews on her bottom lip as she turns it over and removes the back with the intention of hunting down a description. Much to her surprise, she finds a letter instead, addressed to her.

It reads:

_James,_

_I can't say how sorry I am. If you found this letter, it means I died. But it also means that I did something right if you're reading this. I know you probably don't remember me taking this picture, but this is you and Jenna. You were nine months and she was teaching you how to read while my wife and I argued our way into a settlement for a divorce. _

_It's the last time I saw her. It's the last time I was any good to either one of you. I betrayed both of your trust and became a man I never wanted to be. I have many regrets, and letting the both of you down is at the top of the list. I've been trying to make it all right, and hopefully by the time you've read this, I have. I know I don't deserve it, but please don't remember me as the drunken gambling jackass I was. _

_This picture has always been sacred to me, even when I found myself in the lowest of lows. I want you to have it, and any picture you find and decide you want. It's the least I could do since I've been anything but family to you. Hopefully the photos can make up for it somehow—hopefully my death, which will be a gateway for you to meet the family I never introduced you to, can make up for it somehow. _

_And also, I know your mom's going to come around—try and give her a fair chance. She was really young when she had you, and you remind me so much of her, always did._

_Please take the time to get to know Jenna again. You two used to be so close before her mother took her away and out of my reach. As another favor for me, be the family that she needs. She's the black sheep of the family at the moment since she started having kids young and out of wedlock. I know you don't know much about the Emerson clan, and though they can be well intentioned, they are also very traditional and judgmental. _

_Jenna has four wonderful kids I've only had the courtesy to meet via videophone and only recently as my time in this world shortens. Three girls, and one boy—Gwen (12), Hayley (9), Grace (8), and Jonah (6). I think they'll like you. I bet you're good with kids. I wish I could have stuck around longer to see yours. _

_Take care of yourself, Jamie. Be happy._

_Frank_

Jim's first reaction is to crumble the letter up and throw it on the floor so she can stomp on it. She does. And she repeats this process at least three more times before she picks it up and uses her fingers to try and iron out all the wrinkles. She inhales carefully before she slowly exhales and takes a moment to figure what she's feeling.

Sadness. Anger. Confusion. Regret.

It all runs on a loop, right behind the teeth of her ribcage through her shoulders, and up and down the length of her arms.

Jim picks up the picture of her and Jenna sitting in a basket chair. There's a thin picture book in their laps, and the younger version of herself seems to be studying it with curious eyes while Jenna murmurs the words near her ear. Jim has a pacifier in her mouth, and her blonde hair is short and wily while Jenna's reaches all the way down to her small shoulders. Jenna's wearing matching pink pajamas while Jim is haphazardly wearing a purple shirt with red pajama bottoms. There's a lot of light in the room they're in—but then Jim realizes that it's not a room per say. It's the back porch sitting area, or what it used to look like when the house was nicer once upon a time. On the very bottom of the photo is Frank's scrawl.

(**_picture from above scene can be found in my livejournal or AO3 account in the same chapter_**)

**_-James and Jenna, 9mths and 8yrs_**

Jim traces her finger over the edge of the photo before she sighs and stuffs it in her back pocket along with the letter. She spends the next moment walking down the steps and fishing for her toothbrush and some face wash. While Spock tries to get a fire going in the fireplace, she tucks away in the ½ bathroom found just on the other side of the kitchen beside the back door which leads out to the porch. She spends exactly seven minutes crying with no idea why she is before she forcibly bottles it all up. She washes her face and brushes her teeth kind of robotically before she empties her bladder and returns to the living room. She quickly kicks off her shoes and wiggles her bare toes against the cold hardwood floor.

Spock is sitting against the built-in bookshelves on the right side of the fireplace. He has his PADD in his lap and his brow is furrowed in concentration.

Jim smiles at the fact that he's wearing the maroon sweater with reindeer print. She knew he would look good in it. Before she lies down, she grabs some of her zebra-print travel pillows from her bag and drags Spock over until he's lying in the mound of pillows with her in front of the crackling fireplace. She leans back against his stomach and smiles secretly when she feels his pale hand carefully undo her bun by removing her elastic black hair tie.

"Maybe I wanted my hair up," she quips as she looks at him.

Spock merely makes a thoughtful sound as he combs his pale fingers through her golden tresses until every thickly wavy strand falls all around her face and down her shoulders. Then he starts using those dexterous hands to massage the follicles of her scalp.

Jim immediately shivers and sighs. "Oh that's just playing dirty," she groans as she leans into the touch. The warm pads of his fingers stroke along the inside of her scalp before rubbing outward in firm sweeps that turns her into a puddle of goo. It's like he's washing her hair without the shampoo or the water. She turns over and curls against him, wrapping an arm around his midsection with another shuddering sigh. "M'gonna fall asleep," she mumbles into his sweater.

"That is the objective of this," Spock quietly admits, sounding far too smug than what's necessary.

"I don't wanna sleep though," Jim mutters. "Might have bad dreams."

"You need not worry," Spock assures as his fingers scrub gently along the base of her neck. "I am here."

Jim murmurs incoherently as her lids fall shut. "M'sad," she whispers as she drifts off. "Angry."

"I am aware," Spock calmly replies. "You will feel better when you awaken. I will be here."

Jim's eyebrow twitches as her mouth sets into a frown, but she's already sunken into the vacuum sleep.

The jukebox continues to drone on in the background.

888

Jim wakes to the sound of voices and the curling warmth of content swimming laps in her gut. For a moment, all she can smell is burnt wood and cinnamon before the chill of the house starts to claw its way into her body and coil around her bones. She shivers for a moment as she sits up, causing the thin brown fleece blanket that was settled over her to sink down to her waist. She frowns and blinks blurrily at her surroundings before she pats her hair, only to find that it's been pulled into a neat ponytail.

Jim smiles and stretches her hands over her head, cocking her hips more to the left as she remembers where she is. Her hands fall to the floor, where she pushes herself up and on her feet. She wipes at the corners of her mouth and pulls down her shirt, which was slightly crumpled up at her midsection. Walking across the chilled floor, and shivering against the cold of the house, she sets out in search of Spock. She finds him in the basement with another man.

"Hi," Jim says with an awkward wave.

The man stops talking for a moment to turn his attention to Jim. He's a finely aged looking man, with a height that surpasses Spock by two to three inches. He has dulling brown hair, hazel eyes, wide shoulders and big hands. He's wearing a red plaid shirt, some fading blue jeans and some dirty work boots. There's a tool belt around his thick waist and a pencil behind his right ear.

"Good morning. You must be Ms. Kirk. I'm Ralph. I got your message," Ralph says and sticks out a big hand.

Jim shakes his hand and notes the firm, yet confident grip. "Nice to meet you. You can call me, James."

"Okay," Ralph says agreeably as he folds his arms. "Uh—now it's my understanding you're having problems with your plumbing and ventilation system?"

"Yeah, the electricity is fine and all. It's just everything else isn't working the way that it's supposed to. I don't know how much was explained," Jim says as she looks to Spock and then back.

"Well your friend here was just filling me in. It's just like I was telling him—I would need to go through the whole house and assess a few things before I even attempted to rectify anything. But so far it's looking fairly simple. It's not as if this house is old and decrepit. It just hasn't been maintained for a fair amount of time. It happens." Ralph gives a simple shrug as he rubs at his jaw.

"Thank you. I appreciate you taking the time to come out. You can do whatever needs to be done. I just want everything to work," Jim explains. "I mean, like brand new. Money isn't really anything so you don't have to worry about limiting yourself. There's going to be a lot that's renovated in this house. So."

Ralph nods in understanding. He reaches in his back pocket and pulls out a small electronic reader of some sort. "I'll go ahead and get started then so I can be out of your hair," he says with a quick nod and begins to walk up and down the length of the basement space with a thoughtful frown.

Jim curls her fingers around Spock's elbow and drags him up the steps and out of the basement. "You should have woke me," she says once they reach the living room.

"I did not want to disturb you, and your presence was not required at the time," Spock states as he crowds into her space. "You are rested?" he asks quietly as he cups his warm hands under her jaw and leans in.

Jim is a bit distracted by his proximity and it takes a minute before the question gets through but eventually she breathes out, "Yes."

Spock seems satisfied with this answer and he presses his lips to hers with gentle affection.

Jim leans up into it, tangling her fingers along his sides into the thick wooly threading of his sweater. She opens her mouth under his to invite him in, teasing his tongue out from behind his teeth by sliding her own along the seam of his bottom lip. His breath stutters and his fingers twitch under her jawline but he presses into it, tongue coiling out to stroke hers with a seductive hunger.

Goosebumps break out over Jim's skin but it's quickly contested by a wave of heat that sparks in her gut and fans out into her circulatory system with an echoing thrum of desire. His head tilts to the side just as his hot hands drop down to her waist to draw her close, pressing her into the warm line of his body while her fingers rise up and tangle into the short hairs at the base of the back his neck. His tongue sinks deeper in her mouth, curving over the contours of her bottom teeth as though he wants to memorize every detail of it.

Jim breathes in through her nose and holds that air because kissing Spock is like being swept under an ocean wave, pushed and pulled by the swaying waters, spinning and spinning until she doesn't know up from down, breathless with each stroke of his tongue against hers. She pulls back eventually because she gets a little dizzy from the lack of air, and she feels a longing ache throb between her legs, which doesn't fade even when she presses her thighs together to rid herself of some of that tension.

"Well," Jim breathes as she presses her forehead to his before leaning back with a smile. "Good morning to you too."

Spock's lips twitch and his dark eyes are deep, hungry, and thinly veiled behind only a sheet of control. The tips of his ears grow a bit green and his posture straightens quickly as he widens the distance between them. "Perhaps we should—" He stops suddenly. He seems to be dwelling on several different responses. His brow furrows and he looks torn as he glances over to the top of the stairs. He returns his gaze to her and his expression is a lot more even than it was before. "Or perhaps not," he finally says, but he sounds a bit unsure of himself.

"What?" Jim asks, immensely curious. "What we're you going to say?"

"It is of little import," Spock quickly says as he swallows. He shifts away. "Excuse me." He doesn't wait for a response. He disappears up the stairs.

Jim has half a mind to chase after him and make him reconsider whatever it was he had been mulling over. She's pretty sure she would have been all for it. But before she can take a step in his direction, her communicator chirps, and with a sigh, she goes to fish it out of her trench coat pocket. She slides her finger across the screen over the bold name that appears in all capital, and when she does a familiar face appears.

It's her old roommate, Abigail.

Abigail, decked out in a lab coat with a stethoscope, glares at her with brown eyes. "You little bitch!"

Jim blinks and smiles. "Hey Abby. Long time to see."

"Oh fuck you!" Abigail laughs happily. "What the fuck, Jamie? Why the fuck didn't you tell me you were in fucking town, you little shit?"

"Well first of all, can you not swear every other word? And secondly, can you not swear _at_ me? And thirdly, how the hell did you even know I was here?" Jim counters as plops down in the pile of her zebra-print pillows. She lies on her back and holds her communicator over her head.

Abigail gives her a look like she's the biggest idiot in the world. "I know you didn't just fucking ask me that, miss celebrity. Your face has been all over TV and on the newspapers and magazines. I had to fucking hear it from my newsfeed this morning that you were back. So what's the deal? You skip town like three years ago at the drop of a hat and I didn't find out until fucking sometime the beginning of this year that you enlisted with Starfleet and got yourself some badass ship. And you don't call, you don't write. You just say fuck everybody, huh?"

Jim puts a hand over her face and starts laughing as she shakes her head.

"That's not even cool, Jamie. I thought we were the best of friends," Abigail whines amidst a flurry of barks and all sorts of animal noises in the background. "You forget that I'm the one that taught your ass everything you know. And who was the one to help you figure out you were bisexual huh? I oughta come find you and kick your ass. I know where you're at too. The paparazzi might not know but I do."

"Oh my God, Abby. Shut up, you're so stupid," Jim laughs and shakes her head. "Look, I'm sorry I just bailed on you guys and didn't say anything. It was a spontaneous decision. I always meant to look you and Marshall and Cameron up."

"Yeah whatever," Abigail huffs as she rolls her eyes. "So why are you back? Surely not because your pregnant and marrying your First Officer as the media speculates."

Jim almost swallows her tongue. "No fucking way are they saying that," she says as she sits up in alarm.

"Jamie, sweetheart. I don't know if you know this but you're kind of a big deal ever since the whole Nero fiasco. The media is so far up your ass, they speculate the shit out of you even when you're off-planet. So yeah, this is what they think," Abigail reports unapologetically.

Jim sighs really loudly and silently counts backwards from ten.

Abigail snickers at the expression on her face before she goes on to say, "So why _are_ you back?"

"Frank died."

Abigail's expression turns grave. "You okay?"

Jim smiles sarcastically.

"Right. Dumb question," Abigail says with a sigh. "You'll be alright. You were always a strong one."

Jim just shrugs.

"So," Abigail says as the corner of her eyes crinkle with a sly grin. "How cool is it that I used to live in a border house with a celebrity? I always knew you were meant for big things, Jamie. Don't glare at me like that, I'm joking." She rolls her eyes again before she grows serious. "I did worry about you. I missed you and I worried. I was this close to filing a missing person's report but Cameron convinced me not to."

"How is Cameron?" Jim says.

"Married. To me. You missed the wedding, you dick," Abigail cheerily announces. She takes a moment to flash Jim the gold band on her ring finger.

"God help Cameron. How did you convince her to marry someone like you?" Jim teases with an amused grin and she laughs explosively when Abigail scowls with undisguised offense.

"Fuck you and the starship you came in," Abigail mutters defensively. "I'm a great catch."

"I mean, I guess but…" Jim trails off purposefully. "No, but I'm kidding. I'm happy for you two. I am surprised because the last that I saw of you two, you couldn't stand each other. You were the skip school, stay up all night, party anytime and anywhere type—and Cameron was always the nose deep in a book, attends church every Sunday, ready to glare at anyone for their bad decisions type. What changed?"

Abigail makes a completely lewd face.

Jim dry heaves. "Ugh, never mind. Keep that story to yourself."

Abigail laughs long and loud.

"So where are you now? And why do I hear like a zoo full of animal noises?" Jim asks curiously.

"Well, if _somebody_ had kept in touch, you would know that Cameron and I opened up our own veterinary clinic about sometime after we graduated, which was a good two years ago," Abigail explains, not without sass.

Jim just rolls her eyes. "You're going to hold this over my head for the rest of our lives aren't you?"

Abigail looks vindictively pleased. "Oh so you plan on staying involved in my life this time around?" she counters.

"I will hang up on you," Jim warns.

Abigail just chuckles, unmoved. "We close the clinic around five. I have to go because Cameron is already sending a flock of student workers back my way to pull me back into my responsibilities. But know that as soon as this conversation ends, I'm sending you our address and I expect for you and your sexy little Vulcan to come over for dinner tonight. I'm not taking no for an answer."

Jim just lifts both her eyebrows.

Abigail blows her a kiss before she kills the connection on her end.

Jim only has to wait about six seconds before her communicator pings and vibrates with a notification.

_*Jamie the address is 640 N. Butler Street. Six o'clock sharp and don't be late. Also, look what I found! Brings back memories huh? –Abby_

Jim opens the attachment and she smiles in immediate recognition of the picture that pops up. It's from five years ago. It was Jim's sixteenth birthday and Abigail and her had finally convinced Cameron to come out partying with them. They'd combined their funds, rented a car and drove all the way out to Chicago for a girl's night. It was an epic bar crawl up and down Hyde Park, and they somehow ended up on the park bench. Jim doesn't even remember who Abigail had asked to take the picture of them, but she said she wanted Jim to be able to remember this special day. Jim grins as she looks at the way she's sprawled all over Cameron and Abigail with a stupidly intoxicated smile. She certainly did have fun that night.

(**_picture from above scene can be found in my livejournal or AO3 account in the same chapter_**)

**_-Abigail, James, Cameron_**

Jim saves the photo to one of her favorite PADDs before she pulls up a directory for renovators and landscapers. She spends another thirty minutes talking to some people and arranging appointments for the reconstruction of the house, taking notes on the scope of prices that is quoted to her. She's not quite ready to tackle Frank's funeral arrangements, so she pushes that way down her to-do-list.

Jim goes to look for Spock, and she finds him in her old room, cradling a black kitten to his chest and stroking its ears. Needless to say, she's a little caught off guard. "Is this what you've been doing the whole time?" she asks as she leans against the doorframe and crosses her arms to watch him.

Spock glances up at her as he continues to stroke the kitten as it purrs. "She made a noise of distress, and upon further inspection, I discovered she was stuck on the ledge outside of this window," he explains.

Jim's mouth twists thoughtfully. "So that's why you made that face earlier. You heard her cry for help, when I couldn't," she decides. She walks around him and over to the window to peer out. "I wonder how she got up there in the first place."

"Indeed. I, too, was perplexed," Spock says, blankly. "I considered the logistics concerning the distance of the ledge from the ground, and while I have come to understand that Terran domesticated felines are known for their agility, her initial size and age should have rendered her capacity to reach such heights unattainable."

"Yeah," Jim agrees as she turns to face him. She grins a little. "So how do you know it's a girl?"

"By touch."

"You can read her?" Jim says, impressed. "You pick up what she's feeling?"

"Animals are easily read. They are unlike sentient beings—they do not have elongated thought tangents. Their instincts are based in feelings and in impulses," Spock explains. "Right now she is content, where before she was frightened."

Jim nods as she wanders over and eyes the black kitten carefully. She reaches forward and gently strokes her fingers under the kitten's jaw, causing it to purr louder. "You should give her name," she suggests.

Spock lifts a brow.

"Well you did save her from sudden doom. She's kind of yours now—for the moment at least," Jim remarks and watches in amusement as the kitten hops up and curls onto Spock's left shoulder. "So—names."

"I am unsure," Spock admits as he tilts his head to eye the black fur ball. "She is peculiar. A name she holds should be no less, I gather."

Jim hums thoughtfully in agreement. She sucks on her bottom lip as she watches the little kitten's tail sway back and forth. It really is a dark little thing. She's got yellow eyes, and a shiny coat of fur with white paws and a white mouth. She kind of reminds Jim of an Oreo cookie.

"_Pris_," Spock murmurs.

Jim smiles bemusedly. "Any reason why you said the Vulcan word for 'braid'?"

"It is what I wish to call her," Spock merely clarifies without really clarifying as he glances at her and then back to the kitten. "Jim, I do not intend to keep her, however."

Jim snorts. "I know." She reaches her hand to the little kitten and strokes her ears. "_Pris_. It fits I think."

Spock flicks his gaze over to her, and he has something unfathomable lurking behind that stoic expression. "Indeed," he murmurs.

Jim doesn't question it. Doesn't mean she's not curious though. She is. But she figures if he wants to tell her whatever it is he's thinking, he will.

A pair of footsteps approaches them, and Ralph appears. "Alright, you're all set. Everything's been restored. I went ahead and installed a new temperature control panel. It's mounted on the wall across from the stairs." He hands Jim his PADD and pulls up a diagram of the house. "The plumbing is fine, there's not much that I had to adjust there. I want to come back tomorrow and really do something with your ventilation system. The furnace you have in the basement is really out of date. It works, but you said you wanted things to be running like it's new, so I figured you're gonna want me to replace it with something more up to date. The model I'm thinking of takes only about three hours to install, but when it's all said and done, you wont have to do it manually anymore, it'll adjust itself according to the temperature outside."

"Okay. That's fine by me," Jim says and takes the stylus pen he hands her to sign off on the small contract he's pulled up on his PADD.

"I'll see you tomorrow then. I'll have all my equipment and I'll be in and out," Ralph promises. He shakes her hand and nods to Spock. "You two have a good day."

"You too," Jim says as she walks with him down the hall and then down the steps to the front door, where she sees him out. She watches him go to his truck and drive off before she claps her hands and lifts them to the ceiling. "Thank the sun and the moon—I can finally take a shower," she praises.

Spock joins her in the living room as she rifles through her luggage for some body soap and a bath sponge. She tucks an outfit under one arm and a dry towel under the other.

"So, my old roommate invited us over for dinner," Jim says as she searches for her shampoo. "Do you feel up to it? Maybe we can pawn Pris off on her. She's a veterinarian."

"At which time would they expect our arrival?"

"Well she said six, but I think we can push for seven. Just because I want to mess with her," Jim says with a coy grin before she wanders off to take her shower. When she gets out almost forty-five minutes later, she can tell that Spock has turned on the heat because the house is now relatively warmer than it was before. Which is actually perfect timing for her because otherwise she would have been freezing.

She quickly hops into a pair of dark jeans and a long sleeved nautical white/blue sweater before she uses her red paddle brush to detangle her wet hair. She descends the steps with wet feet and finds Spock on the living room floor with Pris still curled on his shoulder (fast asleep) while he works on a project on his PADD. She notices that he's changed into different clothes (black jeans with a brown/green rip curl sweater), so she guesses he must have taken a shower as well in one of the other bathrooms.

Jim lowers herself onto her knees and begins to give herself a Dutch flower braid. She pins it in place with her infamous monkey clip, brushes out her bangs, and then goes digging for a fresh pair of socks. By the time she climbs into her black leather ankle boots, and gives herself a once over of orange citrus perfume, it's edging into two o'clock.

"Okay I'm ready," Jim announces as she stands and stretches before she grabs her dark blue trench coat. She puts on her orange gloves and scarf (not bothering with the hat because she'd only mess up her hair). "I was thinking we could go furniture shopping before we met up with my friends."

Spock says nothing, but he does put on a dark brown trench coat with white gloves, a scarf and a hat.

Jim resists the urge to fuss at him for that. He _should _put on something thicker though. "Should we leave Pris here? I mean we have to come back here anyway before we go off to dinner. She should be alright, I guess," she supposes.

"She will most likely sleep. She is still young," Spock reasons.

Jim nods as she grabs her car keys along with the house keys.

They both leave out the front door, she locks it, and then they go to her car. They climb in and she starts it, giving the engine a good fifteen minutes to warm up before she pulls off. They go into the heart of Riverside, and drive from store to store until Jim finds one that she figures is reasonably priced. She may be loaded, but she's not stupid. She won't just throw her money at anything—she still believes in quality.

Spock helps her pick out a new fridge for the house, along with dual washing machine. And since the store she purchased it from offers same day delivery, she decides to go grocery shopping. Between the two of them, they fill up about two carts worth of food. The challenge is in fitting it all in the trunk of her car, but somehow they manage to pull it off.

By the time they get back to the house, there's a delivery truck waiting for them and Jim hurries to let them in while Spock begins the process of hauling all the grocery bags inside. The fridge gets installed in the kitchen, while the dual washing machine is installed in the basement.

Jim, however, realizes too late while she and Spock are putting away the food in the two-door fridge that she forgot to get some Styrofoam plates, cups, and utensils. She just tacks it onto her to-do-list, as Spock grabs Pris and they head out the door again because it's edging into seven o'clock.

Needless to say, Abigail is openly annoyed with her when she and Spock finally arrive. But that quickly changes when she sees Pris. She receives the black kitten without hesitation and sets the little thing on the floor, where she proceeds to wander off.

"Come in, come in," Abigail says, waving them through the doorway. "Let me take your coats."

Jim hands over her coat but doesn't make it two steps before Abigail snatches her into stifling hug. "Okay, okay. I love you too, Abby," she wheezes and tries to pull away.

"Whatever. Hi, you must be Spock. I'm Abigail," Abigail says, introducing herself with a friendly smile.

"It is nice to meet you," Spock politely returns.

"Oh don't say that just yet," Abigail quips with a sharp grin. "You two can go sit in the dining room. Dinner's almost ready." She points in the direction.

Spock presses a heated palm on Jim's lower back and guides her over to the dining room area.

"Oh my Lord, you do still exist. Come here," Cameron says, throwing out her arms and embracing Jim. A bit of her dark hair gets in Jim's mouth during the enthusiasm. "I should kill you."

"I already received enough threats from Abby, thanks," Jim laughs as she hugs Cameron back.

Cameron smiles before she turns to Spock. "Hi, I'm Cameron."

"Spock."

"Nice to meet you."

"Likewise."

Cameron nods and says, "I have to go check on the food, but you two sit and relax." She disappears into the kitchen.

"So do I call you Jamie or Captain?"

Jim turns and blinks in surprise. "Holy shit. Marshall?"

"Who else?" Marshall laughs as he embraces her.

"Oh my God," she says and pulls back. "Look at you. I almost didn't recognize you. You've grown a beard."

"And he got fat," Abigail adds as she enters the room and sits at the head of the table.

"Fuck you, Abs," Marshall laughs, but he pats his gut. "But yeah. If you were a optician in this kind of town then you'd get fat too. There's nothing else to do but eat."

"Excuses, excuses," Abigail throws back.

Marshall waves her off as he turns his attention back to Jim. "God, it's good to see you Jamie. You've got to tell me everything about everything. You're a celebrity now I heard." He looks to Spock and smiles apologetically, "I'm Marshall by the way. I swear I'm not as strange as I look."

Jim reaches up and strokes his surly beard. "You look like some kind of hippie hiker," she comments amusedly. "Or um—who's that one guy?"

"Grizzly Adams," Cameron and Abigail chime at the same time as they begin to set down platters of pasta, bread, and salad.

"Yes!" Jim says, snapping her fingers.

Marshall's expression sours immediately. "Well it's nice to see that this hasn't changed. Your crappy senses of humor I mean," he complains.

Jim, Abigail, and Cameron just laugh explosively.

"Okay, everybody sit," Cameron commands.

Spock pulls out Jim's chair for her before he seats himself.

Abigail sits down at the head of the table again while Cameron sits down at the other end.

Marshall seats himself across from Jim and Spock.

"We tried to be as mindful as we could to everyone's needs. And in saying that, everything is whole wheat, all natural, gluten free and strictly vegan," Abigail announces as she gives Jim a pointed look before she smiles kindly at Spock.

Jim quietly rolls her eyes.

"Wow, Abby. Why don't you just feed us cardboard," Marshall says as he eyes the food distastefully. "Practically the same."

"Fuck you, Hobo Joe—excuse my language, Spock, I'm sorry—I told you beforehand how this was going to go down so you can't act surprised. You know Jamie has severe food allergies—"

"I do not have _severe _food allegories, they are minor—"

"—and Spock is Vulcan, which means he's innately vegetarian," Abigail continues, avidly ignoring Jim as everyone usually does when she tries to argue the topic. "So shut up, Marshall, and play nice."

"Fine," Marshall concedes. "But can I at least get some alcohol, you know, seeing as how I'm about to experience the worst food I've ever eaten in ever?"

"_Marshall_," Cameron admonishes as she shakes her head, but she still stands and retrieves a bottle of chardonnay along with some wine glasses for everyone.

"So, Spock," Abigail starts as she starts serving everyone portions of the food while Cameron pours everyone a glass of wine. "How are you liking Riverside so far?"

"It is unique in its own way," Spock replies. "I have not settled here long enough to derive a suitable analysis."

"Touché," Abigail concedes with a small smile as she sits back down. "But still. It's all a bit boring around here—especially compared to the action you must see on the job from day to day. The only thing that keeps me here is my beautiful wife—" She pauses and picks up her wineglass to toast to Cameron, who smiles softly. "—and I our adorable dirty man-child." She gestures to Marshall.

Marshall just drops his fork with an exasperated sound.

Abigail chuckles into her glass as she takes a sip.

"Space travel isn't all razzle dazzle," Jim clarifies as she chews and shuffles her fork around her plate. "It has its ugly sides." She thinks of Nero as she says this. Of his vengeful hatred and the destruction of Vulcan. Of Mitchell and Dehner and Mudd. Of the forthcoming threat of war with the Romulans and the Klingons. Her silence must speak volumes, and the shadow that passes over her face causes Cameron to glance at her with open concern.

Jim starts a little at the warm pressure of fingers she feels sliding under her own in her lap under the table. She glances at Spock, who is studying her with that deep and probing gaze of his. She smiles sadly and tangles her fingers with his, holding on.

Marshall clears his throat. "Well, this awkward," he says, unnecessarily.

Abigail rolls her eyes at him.

"Well it is!" Marshall maintains. "Jamie's got that war look in her eyes. Like she's seen stuff man. Like a veteran. It's just weird for me. I'm throwing that out there because I don't know if I want to know what goes on in space that makes you look like that."

Jim smiles more genuinely this time as she looks at him. "It's not all bad. But it does take a certain grace," she says. She strokes her thumb over Spock's hand. "Love what you do right?"

"Here, here," Abigail chimes as everyone lifts their glass to that. "Now—what embarrassing story of Jamie should we tell first?"

"There are just so many," Marshall says. "I feel like I'm going to explode with how many I want to relay."

Jim snorts as she chews and rolls her eyes.

"How about the time Jim went streaking through old McTaggert's cornfield on a dare?" Cameron prompts innocently.

"Oh come on, Cams. You're supposed to be on my side!" Jim laughs as she flushes. She quickly turns to Spock. "Don't believe anything they say. They like to over exaggerate and they are trying to scare you off."

Spock flicks his gaze between them all with a quirked eyebrow before he says, in Vulcan, "_They may certainly try, though I suspect their efforts will be futile_."

Jim's flush deepens agreeably, and Spock drinks it in with an amused twitch of his lips.

"Hey no fair! You guys aren't allowed to do that," Abigail protests but she looks at them with pleased fondness. "Speaking of—how did you guys meet? What's the whole story? I don't want to have to believe what I hear in the magazines."

"Ugh, please don't even mention them," Jim says as she untangles her fingers from Spock so she can grab her wineglass and take a few sips.

"Jamie doesn't like the paps," Abigail clarifies to the others.

"Like a true celebrity," Marshall quips and grins when Jim shoots him a glare. "But seriously though. How _did_ you guys meet?"

Jim just snorts and looks to Spock. "You want to say it or should I?"

Spock looks equally amused but his expression remains passive. "Our first encounter involved a private hearing," he reports.

"I'm sorry, _what_?" Abigail says with surprised expression.

"Spock tried to get me expelled," Jim casually explains.

"That was not my intention," Spock disputes.

"Well I wasn't there for an award," Jim counters but then grins. "_Which _I later got for my, what was it Admiral Barnett said?"

"You remember well enough," Spock murmurs with a tone of amused disapproval.

Jim taps her chin with a feign look of thoughtfulness. "It's all kind of fuzzy. But then again, I guess you _wouldn't _know, seeing as how you weren't there for the ceremony."

"I was otherwise preoccupied, and our association was unusually strained at the time," Spock carefully remarks.

"Doesn't hurt any less," Jim says with a dramatic sigh.

"Can we get back to the story? You know, if you're done fake bickering and all," Marshall sardonically jibes.

Jim huffs but goes on to say, "I used a bit of ingenuity on the Kobayashi Maru simulation which was, at the time, an unwinnable scenario. Needless to say, Spock here wasn't too pleased with my 'forward thinking'."

"You cheated," Cameron states plainly.

"I _exercised_ a bit of innovation."

"You cheated," Abigail and Marshall chimes at the same time.

Jim waves them all off as they laugh.

"So you cheated, he brought you up on charges, and then what?" Cameron asks.

"Then nothing. We didn't like each other," Jim simply replies. "He had a girlfriend and I had a bit of a thing for my best friend."

"Complicated," Marshall says as he chews.

"That still doesn't explain how you two ended up together," Abigail says, assertive as ever.

"I don't know what to tell you. We didn't like each other, then we started working together and along the way we slowly became friends. He went through some things. I went through some things. A lot of stuff was just shifting in our lives and as we transitioned through it, we kind of got closer and closer," Jim tries to explain. "I ended sharing things with him that I never shared with anyone else. Then I realized what I was feeling wasn't one sided because he would look at me and he just does these small little things that speaks to how much he cares and respects me. Like a sea captain respects the ocean." She looks at Spock who returns her gaze. "With awe and reverence—while still understanding that I am a force of nature."

"_Awe,_" Cameron, Abigail, and Marshall coo dramatically.

Jim flushes, as does Spock, but he continues to gaze her with a look that speaks volumes of what he thinks of her significance, and it doesn't fail to warm her right down to her toes. She quickly clears her throat as she shifts in her seat and looks away.

"I must agree with Jim's viewpoint," Spock states, meaningfully. "Though this aspect of our relationship is relatively new, we have come to understand that we are far more suited to each other than we originally surmised."

Jim's smile spreads and she affectionately strokes her middle fingers against his under the table.

"Well, I'm happy for you two. And I expect a wedding invitation," Abigail says, brashly.

Jim almost chokes on her next sip of wine.

Cameron sends her wife a look as she stands and begins to clear the table of the plates. "Let them work out things in their own time."

"They can take fifty years for all I care. All I'm saying is that I better receive an invite," Abigail quips as she stands and kisses Cameron on the cheek while she takes some of the plates out of her hands. "Now sit, I can take care of this. You cooked, so I'll clean." She pauses as she gives Marshall an assessing look. "So I'll make Marshall clean."

Marshall jerks at that. "What? Why me?"

"Listen to your mother when she tells you to do something," Abigail sings pleasantly as she sets the dirty plates in front of him and tugs on his ear.

Marshall grumbles and scratches his beard, but he eventually gets up and starts cleaning off the table. "You're not my mom. I'm like, _older_ than you."

"So, I believe you brought a kitten here? What shall we do about that?" Abigail questions (ignoring Marshall) as she motions for Spock and Jim to follow her into the living room.

The rest of the night is spent talking about said kitten, sharing embarrassing memories, and drinking more wine. By the time they leave, it's edging into midnight and Jim is affectionately drunk.

Spock doesn't let her drive, and if Jim were sober enough, she'd marvel at the fact that he _can _and she didn't know. But she doesn't. Instead she giggles helplessly as he tosses her over his shoulder and carries her into the house, setting her down in her pile of zebra-print pillows on the living room floor. He moves to the fireplace and gets a fire going just to add extra warmth to the already present heat of the house.

"Hey Spock," Jim says as she spreads out her arms and legs like a starfish, and then proceeds to make a snow angel. "Did you know that I think you are utterly gorgeous?"

Spock's lips twitch as he sinks down onto his knees and attempts to remove Jim's ankle boots. "You have made clear indications to this fact," he responds levelly, humoring her.

"Oh," Jim breathes as she watches him. "Do you think I'm utterly gorgeous?"

Spock removes her other boot and sets them neatly to the side before he says, "Yes."

Jim beams and wraps her arms around herself as she sits up. "What do you like the most about me? I bet I know." She smiles cheekily as he removes her hair tie and slides it onto her right hand so that it can remain around her small wrist. She shakes out her hair until it drops around her shoulders before she falls back against the pillows again.

Spock reaches for his PADD before he settles down beside her. "There are many aspects of you that I enjoy," he replies as he pulls up his current project.

News articles, private government documents, and Starfleet patrol reports pop up on his screen. He looks through his findings and continues to organize any similar or coinciding events that may be connected. This project was first prompted by the strange incident regarding Dr. Dehner and Mitchell. He is still searching for closure as to why the class 'j' vessel was found on the edge of the neutral zone specifically. He wonders if the recent attacks on the Federation Supreme Court may be connected to the peculiar explosion that occurred in San Francisco, along with the events that transpired between Dr. Dehner and Mitchell.

Jim is unaware of his research, but he is content to not share his findings until he can draw an equitable conclusion. He would rather she be unconcerned with these circumstances. He understands that she is already invested in setting her uncle's affairs in order. He need not add to the distress he can continually read off of her when they touch.

"Hey Spock," Jim murmurs as she curls up on her side, pressing her forehead into his arm. "I wish I could have met your mother."

Spock stiffens momentarily, caught by surprise.

"You don't know how much I wish that," Jim continues, ignorant to the inner turmoil she's pressing upon Spock. "I know she was really great. I can tell by the way that you are and how wonderful and respectful and willful you are." She sighs as she shifts her legs. "Do you think she would have liked me?"

Spock's lips part, but the response is stilled by something hot and tight swelling in his throat. It is a sensation he has familiarized as his grief over his mother. He swallows and steadies the rate of his breathing before he replies, "I believe she would have been highly fond of you, as my father is. Perhaps even more so." He exhales shakily as his throat tightens again. "I am grieved that you may never truly know."

Jim leans her head back and her face is flushed pink with her intoxication. It is very flattering to her features, Spock notes. She reaches up and curls her cool fingers around his wrist with a small smile. "I think my dad would have liked you. I think he would have liked both us. And it makes me sad too that we'll never know," she admits as she blinks tiredly. She shifts onto her other side before wiggling backwards so that her back is pressed up against the side of his body. "Do you pray?"

Spock blinks and studies the blunt curve of her ear before he returns his gaze back to the screen of his PADD. "Infrequently," he responds.

"Well, when you do, what do you pray about?" Jim asks as she shifts her legs again. It seems she can never be completely still.

"Mainly to find solutions to unrelenting vexatious circumstances that I find myself confronted by," Spock vaguely explains.

Jim hums thoughtfully. "Sounds like something anyone else would do when they're down," she supposes.

"Perhaps," Spock returns.

Jim shifts her legs and pushes back against him as she curls her arms into her chest. "I'm sad, Spock," she murmurs.

"I know," he says, quietly. He pauses his work to stroke his fingers over the blunt curve of her ear, tucking her hair behind it before he rests his hand on the crown of her head.

Jim hums sleepily before she shifts her legs once more and curls her hands into her chest again. "M'not lonely though. Not anymore. Not with you."

Spock is pleased to hear it.

"Didn't think I'd mourn that bastard, but I am. Everyday in this house I feel a little bit more for him and—" She trails off with a weak shrug. "I don't know. Just didn't think I would."

"It is understandable," Spock assures. "Our kin often inspire such unintentional effects." He thinks of his older brother as he says this. He would, perhaps, mourn Sybok if he were to perish. There would be grief, but a certain kind of grief. He reasons this is the kind that Jim is currently experiencing.

"M'nervous," Jim mutters. "Gonna meet my moth—_Winona's_—side of the family for the first time. Wonder what they will think."

"It will matter very little. Despite their opinions, you will remain as ineffably distinguished as you already are," Spock promises and he catches a ghost of a smile curling the corners of her lips.

"M'glad you're here," Jim admits softly before her breathing evens out. "Your support s'nice. Never had that before."

"Then I will continuously provide it," Spock vows.

Jim doesn't say anything to the claim. Her thickly blonde lashes are twitching over her pink cheeks. Silence follows her descent into sleep.

Spock finds that he will often miss hearing the sound of her voice after it becomes incapacitated by some occurrence. He frequently pays attention to the way the tenor of her voice will raise and decline depending on her fluctuating emotions. He has been more than content to remain silent with her these past couple of days, just to hear and watch how she interacts with others.

Spock takes a moment to retrieve her thin fleece blanket and spreads it over her as she continues to sleep. When he feels that she is comfortable, he returns to the project waiting for him on the screen of his PADD. He frowns as something catches his eyes.

The frequency of Klingon and Romulan patrol ships along the Neutral Zone is prominently gradual as well as inordinately aggressive.

Spock pulls up an enhanced map of the area and uses his stylus to follow each beginning point to the end point. He discovers that they form a pathway into the Cardassian Empire (those of whom hold a shaky truce with the Federation currently).

It would seem that the Romulans and the Klingons are attempting to solicit the support of the Cardassians.

This could prove to be troublesome.

Spock sends his marked map, along with his thoughts in a communiqué addressed to Admiral Barnett and awaits a response.

He also makes a silent vow to inform Jim of the circumstances the very moment she has settled all of her affairs here in Riverside.

888

The next few days are the busiest Jim's ever seen. Between the landscapers, the renovators, and the interior decorators, the house is full and alive with the noise of hammers, saws, surly voices and construction sounds. By the 18th of December, Jim gets the house fully restored (furnishings and all). It actually looks like the kind of house Jim would buy. It's very comely and she only hopes it fits Jenna and her kids. She wasn't quite sure what to do with the five bedrooms upstairs, but as Paula (the interior decorator from hell) kindly suggested, she repainted the rooms and put new bedframes and dressers in them. The rest can be left to Jenna and her small family.

When it can no longer be put off, Jim begins working on Frank's funeral preparations. It's only a small surprise when Jenna ends up on the doorstep that night with her four kids.

Jenna is a short woman with dirty blonde hair and brown freckles. She's really quite mousy looking with her curly hair and green eyes. Her children, however, are noticeably of mixed heritage. They have brownish light-gray skin, two thick vertical neck ridges that recede back to the crown of their head, and an inverted tear-shaped ridge in the center of the forehead. They all happen to have green eyes like their mother, and thick, curly toffee colored hair too.

Their father was obviously a Cardassian, which must make for an interesting story, Jim supposes. She's polite enough not to ask.

"I'm sorry," she says when she realizes that she's just been staring at them after Jenna introduced herself. "Come in, come in," she urges as she moves out of the way.

"It's fine," Jenna assures as she picks up her bags and shuffles inside.

"Mom, I'm _hungry_," Gwen (the oldest daughter) complains as she throws down her bag with a gruff frown.

Jenna quickly shushes her before she smiles at Spock, who appears from the kitchen. "Hello, I'm Jenna."

"Spock," he returns and she nods.

"Wow, are you a Vulcan?" Grace (the youngest daughter) asks with wide curious eyes.

"I am," Spock confirms, tolerably.

"That's so cool!" Grace decides. She yanks on the sleeve of Jenna's coat. "Mom isn't that cool? He's an alien like me."

Gwen scowls. "We're not _aliens_, Grace. We were born on this planet, in this country. We're just hybrids," she corrects as she crosses her arms.

"Shut up, you don't know anything!" Grace snaps as she glares at her older sister.

"Do _not _start bickering. I already had to deal with that the whole drive down here," Jenna warns and gives them both a stern look before she sends Spock and Jim a more apologetic one.

"Momma I have to pee," Jonah (the youngest child) says quietly as he rubs the back of his hand against his runny nose. He gives a congested cough.

Jenna nods and looks around. "Uh, it's been a long time since I lived here," she admits sheepishly. "Where is…"

"Through the kitchen and around the corner beside the back door," Jim supplies and Jenna smiles gratefully before she picks up Jonah.

"Thank you," Jenna says before she sends her three daughters a stern look. "_Behave_," she urges.

"When don't we behave?" Hayley (the second oldest) retorts with a look of false innocence. "Really mother. Have more faith in us."

Jenna snorts and carries Jonah off.

Gwen, Hayley, and Grace eye Spock and Jim with a considerable amount of thought.

"So," Jim starts, breaking the awkward silence. "Would you like to go upstairs and pick your rooms?"

The three girls perk up immediately before they storm past Spock and Jim, running up the steps with quite a bit of commotion as they shove each other out of the way.

Jim winces slightly. "Maybe I shouldn't have suggested that," she mutters.

"Indeed," Spock murmurs as he watches the top of the stairs for a long time.

Jim realizes he must be able to pick up on all the sounds that the three girls are creating. She bumps her shoulders into his with an affectionate grin.

Jenna reappears with Jonah, who is wiping his nose with some tissue. She frowns as she looks around. "Where are the girls?"

"Upstairs, picking a room for themselves," Jim explains before she smiles kindly at Jonah. "You can go too if you want."

Jonah nods hastily before he retreats up the steps in search of his older sisters.

Jenna looks really uncertain. "Listen, Jim. I really appreciate everything you're doing. I mean, I know how much of a dick my dad was. It's very big of you to carry out his final wishes," she says bluntly. "But to be honest, I'm still undecided about moving into this house. I just—I don't know. I'll have to see how the next few days go."

"Understandable," Jim assures. "Move in, don't move in. Either way, it's yours to do what you want. You can rent it out or sell it."

Jenna nods but she does begin to peer around. "It does look _really _nice," she admits. "Did you do all this yourself?"

"I had some help," Jim explains, modestly.

"Well it's incredible. Nothing like how I remember," Jenna murmurs as her gaze wanders around. She finally turns her attention to Jim. "So how are you? I know you don't remember me as much as I do you. How old are you now?"

"I'm twenty-one," Jim says. "Well, I will be, come march. But I always give people my age a year older than what I am."

Jenna smiles. "So when you do actually become twenty-one, you'll say twenty-two."

"Exactly," Jim quips. "And as to how I am, I am—just very involved with a lot things," she says, vaguely.

"You're a Captain of Starfleet, so I can understand," Jenna says as she folds her arms across her chest. "I, on the other hand, am a twenty-eight year old college dropout, between jobs and still trying to figure out what's best for my kids since their father hasn't exactly shown interest in sticking around." She pauses before she flushes. "I'm sorry. I'm over sharing. I'm tired from the drive down from Minnesota. Forgive me."

"Nothing to forgive," Jim assures. "Why don't we go sit in the kitchen and figure out something to eat?"

Jenna nods and follows her into the kitchen.

"If you will excuse me, I will check on the children," Spock offers.

"Oh thank you," Jenna says. "And I apologize beforehand for their foot in mouth condition. They don't get it from me."

Spock inclines his head before he retreats up the steps.

Jim smiles long after he's gone before she turns to open the fridge.

Jenna seats herself on the barstool of the kitchen island. "So—I don't mean to pry, but, are you and he…together?"

Jim snorts and hip-checks the fridge door as she pulls free a couple of frozen cheese pizzas. "Yes, Jenna. Spock and I are together," she says amusedly.

Jenna rolls her eyes. "Sorry. I was curious. You two have some pretty noticeable chemistry," she admits as she watches Jim preheat the double stove.

"I've heard that one before," Jim remarks as she shoves the pizzas into the bottom oven. "Water?"

"Please."

Jim grabs a glass and fills it before handing it over and joining Jenna at the island. "How are you really?"

Jenna takes a few sips. "What do you mean?"

"You're dad died. I was just wondering."

"I don't know, Jim. How am I supposed to feel? You spent more time with him then I did. Are _you _grieving?"

Jim doesn't respond. She realizes how complicated this must be for Jenna. "Is you're mother coming?"

"Unfortunately." Jenna takes another swallow of water. "Yours?"

"Unfortunately."

Jenna huffs and grins sadly. "I think you and I have more in common then we realize. At least when it comes to family," she suppose.

Jim makes an incoherent sound of agreement.

"Who did you invite?"

"So far, no one. I don't know anyone. I don't know who to call."

"Guess I can help with that. Even though I didn't cross paths with my dad often, my mom still dragged me to the Emerson family reunions."

"They have reunions?"

"Annually. But don't worry. You'll get a taste of it all when everyone comes. Then you'll realize you haven't missed a thing."

Jim gives a bitter snort.

"Has he been cremated yet?"

"No. I'm supposed to go tomorrow down to the funeral home and attend the process."

"I could come with you."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. Least I can do, I guess."

Silence.

"You broke my favorite baby doll when you were first learning to walk. I still haven't forgiven you for it." Jenna says as Jim laughs. She chuckles and stands from her seat to embrace Jim. "I'm glad you're here. I always found myself thinking on you and wondering how you turned out. I'm happy it was for the better."

"It's just nice to have a cousin again, I guess," Jim teases as she hugs her back before Jenna pulls away with a scoff. "So tell me about your kids."

"Oh sweetheart. Are you sure you're ready for this conversation?" Jenna jokes and looks pleased when Jim snickers. "I really wont have to say much because you'll learn them well enough while we stay here. They are very out-spoken and assertive. I'm am grateful they are because of, well, you know how other kids can be when they don't understand something."

"They get bullied huh?"

Jenna sighs and shakes her head. "No. Not like that. They just make comments," she says and shrugs. She drums her thumbs against the sides of her empty glass. "Curious questions about their body and about me and their dad." She sighs. "I think what really gets to me is when they come home and ask me why we aren't a complete family like the other kids. And I just don't know what to say." She leans into her propped hand. "It's not like I can say, 'Sorry. You're dad only likes to stick around long enough to knock me up and I stupidly fall for it every time'." She sighs again.

"Hey." Jim covers Jenna's hand with her own. "We all make bad choices. That's life. Don't let it get you down."

Jenna nods sadly. "It's just hard because I'm doing it all by myself. Everyone's judging me because I'm single and having kids out of wedlock. My mother won't stop getting on my case about it. As if marriage would solve all my problems. I don't want to marry him. I'm not in love with him. It's just complicated."

Jim nods in understanding. She wonders if now would be a good time to mention the settlement and the money Frank left behind. She decides to hold out on that bit of news until after Frank's been cremated.

"God, here I go again," Jenna says with a rueful laugh. "Over sharing."

"We're family. You can make the exception," Jim offers.

Jenna smiles as she studies Jim. "Thank you."

The stove beeps.

"Dinner's ready," Jim says as she goes hunting for some oven mitts. "They eat pizza right?"

"Are you kidding? They can't get enough of it," Jenna says. "I'll go collect them and bring them down."

Jim nods and concentrates on using the pizza cutter to slice the two pizzas into sizeable squares. She smiles secretly at the joyous shouts that ring from upstairs, followed by the thundering footsteps of small feet racing down the steps into the kitchen.

Jenna fusses and tries to wrangle them in, but they reach out with grabby hands toward Jim, who only chuckles indulgently and passes them their plates. They disappear into the dining room where they have (very loud) animated conversations amongst themselves.

Jenna apologizes profusely but Jim waves her off as she hands her a plate. She thanks her before she goes to join her kids.

Spock finds her leaning against the sink, stuffing her mouth and spilling pizza sauce all over herself.

"So what were you doing when you were up there with them?" Jim asks around a mouthful of food.

Spock grabs a napkin and wipes the streak of pizza sauce from her nose before he replies, "Relaying my knowledge of the different types of primates. Gwen and Grace seemed highly amused by my citations."

Jim snorts, trying to imagine it. "You're good with kids," she decides as she licks her fingers clean.

Spock watches the action with a slight green tinge to the tips of his ears. "I have—" He pauses suddenly as Jim dips her middle finger deeper into her mouth before slowly extracting it. "_Jim_."

"What?" Jim laughs as tries to play at innocent. "Sorry. I just like teasing you." She leans up and kisses him quickly. "Now you were saying?"

Spock spends a few distracted moments staring at her mouth before he gathers himself. "As I was saying," he continues. "I have come to note that about you as well—you're ease with children."

Jim smiles and tries to hide how uncomfortable she is with this turn of conversation. "Um, yeah. I get kids, I guess. Never really, um, got to be one myself so…" She shrugs and turns away quickly to shove another piece of pizza in her mouth. "Are you hungry?" she asks.

"I have already eaten."

"Right," Jim says as she remembers, pretty much because she was sitting in his lap, eating out of his bowl with him. "Jenna is going to go to the funeral home with me tomorrow morning so we can witness Frank's cremation. Do you think you'll be okay to stick around here with the kids?"

"If Jenna is comfortable with the arrangement, yes," Spock replies as he strokes his thumb over the small hairs resting at the back of her neck before he presses down gently on the knob of her spine.

Jim shivers slightly at the touch.

Gwen enters the kitchen and Spock drops his hand. "Can I have another piece of pizza?" she asks.

Grace, Hayley, and Jonah crowd into the kitchen too, holding up their plates eagerly.

Jim smiles kindly as she serves them and tries not to fidget under Spock's probing gaze, which is honed to her with a considerable amount of curiosity.

The kids don't bother going back to the dining room this time. They just stand there and clear their plates before trashing them. They ask for something to drink (Jenna yells no juice or soda since its getting late) and the kids groan but accept the glasses of water Spock passes out to them.

"I like you're hair," Hayley says over the rim of her glass as she eyes Jim's two rows of Dutch braids. "Did you do that yourself?"

Jim nods as she grabs a bottle of chocolate milk from the fridge and shakes it up.

"You know how to braid?" Hayley says as she perks up. "Can you do box braids?"

Grace and Gwen suddenly become very invested in the conversation.

"Sure. I've done them before. It's been a while but I can do them," Jim supposes as she untwists the cap of her chocolate milk. She takes a long sip as Gwen and Hayley squeal.

"Oh please, please, please can you do ours? Momma can't find anyone else to do them for us without charging a whole bunch of money," Gwen explains with widely eager eyes.

Jim chuckles as she licks her upper lip. "Yeah, okay."

Hayley and Gwen jump up and down, thanking her profusely.

"Settle down," Jenna says as she reappears. "What's going on?"

"Jim says she can give us box braids!" Hayley exclaims excitedly.

Jenna's mouth falls into a frown. "Did you badger her?" She turns to Jim. "I'm sorry. I hate when they do this. You don't have to, and I certainly don't have the money to pay you for it."

"It's really no problem. Braiding is a hobby of mine, and I have no issue over it. And I'll do it for free, you don't have to pay me," Jim promises. "We're family."

Jenna looks uncertain but Hayley, Gwen, and Grace run up to her, cupping their hands in a silent prayer while giving her wide-eyed, pleading looks. She huffs before she smiles with an eye roll. "Okay fine." The girls hop around and squeal, clapping their hands in joy. "Is there anything I need to get for them?"

"Not really. I can cover it all." Jim downs the rest of her chocolate milk. "If you want, you can come to the beauty supply tonight and we can pick out the packs of hair."

"Oh can I get pink?"

"I want pink too!"

"I want blue!"

Jenna nods distractedly at them before she says, "How long do you think it will take?"

Jim licks her upper lip with a shrug. "Um, I mean, they have pretty thick hair. But I am a fast braider, so maybe five to six hours for each of them," she supposes.

Jenna lifts a brow before she looks at her daughters. "And you think you can sit for that long?"

Gwen, Grace, and Hayley nod fervently.

Jenna looks skeptical but she doesn't question it. "Fine. Go put your coats on so you can come pick out the hair you want." She watches them run out of the kitchen in search of their coats. "Spock, I hate to ask, but I don't know how much space Jim has in her car. Can Jonah stay here with you? He's not as riley as his sisters."

"It is well with me," Spock remarks and Jenna nods gratefully.

"Do you have a communicator?" Jenna asks as she pulls out her own and hands it to him when he nods. "Can you put your comm link in so that I can contact you or you can contact me if something happens."

Spock returns the mobile device to her when he is done.

"Thank you. Really," Jenna says as she puts on her coat and fumbles when Gwen and Hayley forcibly drag her out the front door.

Jim kisses him quickly with a smile before she goes in search of her coat and her car keys. She gives Spock and Jonah a two-fingered salute before she closes the front door behind her.

Jonah coughs and wipes his nose against his sleeve as he looks up at Spock and says, "Girls are weird."

Spock's lip twitches. "They are peculiar," he agrees.

Jonah sucks on his bottom lip before releasing it with a wet pop. Then he says, "Can we watch TV? There's a documentary on the life cycle of whales." He begins to walk in the direction of the living room, where there is a large flat screen TV propped above the mantle of the fireplace. He finds the remote and sits on the couch parallel to it as Spock settles in beside him.

Spock notes with faint interest that Jonah easily locates the channel he is looking for. Soon they're both watching the giant sea animals swim their way through the ocean.

"Did you know they're extinct?"

"I am aware."

"Yeah, it's sad." Jonah coughs and sniffs as he leans back against the couch cushion and he gazes at the TV watchfully. "I would've liked to meet one."

"Indeed?"

"Uh huh."

"May I inquire as to why?"

"Well," Jonah starts as he drums his fingers against his knees. "I heard they used to sing songs, and the songs meant something. I just think the song would be nice to hear."

Spock says nothing to that, but he does find the notion intriguing.

When Jim returns with the others, they join him and Jonah in the living room.

Spock watches as Jim, seated on the couch adjacent to his, begins to part and braid Grace's hair. Her thin fingers move fluidly and dances all over Grace's scalp with a level of skill Spock is quite impressed with. She appears to be really at ease with Grace sitting in between her knees with patient stillness. Even as she chats with Jenna all the while, there is a natural air of confidence that she exudes, of which, Spock has only ever witnessed during her periods of captaincy.

Jim's character continues to unfold before him.

Spock finds that he is willing to explore the many facets of her personality.

Jim glances over to him and presents him with a beautiful grin before she returns her attention back to Grace's hair.

Spock continues to follow her movements with his eyes, if only to catch her gaze once more and earn another one of her captivating smiles.

He is undoubtedly besotted.

* * *

**Author's note: **_Surprised? So am I. But I'm back. Expect weekly updates. And tell me what you thought about this one. I hope it wasn't too boring. There is a point to it all, I promise. Next chapter will be a lot more filled with family drama._


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Two**

Jim sighs.

She can't sleep.

She's holed up in her old room, over a bare mattress, lying beside Spock, who is sound asleep. She turns her head and looks out her window to see the cold grey sky begin to illuminate with the rising sun. She grabs her wristwatch from off the nightstand and isn't surprised when the hands point to five a.m.

After she had finished braiding Grace's hair (which was three hours ago), everyone had gone their separate ways.

Jenna and her kids are all tucked away in Frank's old room. It seems that they weren't quite ready to part from their mother, even for one night. Which was understandable, since it is a big house—new, unfamiliar.

Jim finds it admirable, and adorable—their closeness—and she's just a bit envious that she didn't have that when she was their age.

She and Spock had come to the decision that they would stay in her old room for the duration of their stay. That left three other rooms open for the taking, and free for any relatives that might take it upon themselves to stay or spend the night.

For once, Jim had watched Spock fall asleep—had guided him there by reciting (in traditional Vulcan) her favorite poem, which happened to be Edgar Allen Poe's '_The Raven_'. He had watched her with attentive dark eyes as she spoke in expressive ranges until he closed his eyes, not altogether sleep but leaning towards it. She had taken her time with the words, pausing when she couldn't figure out the right term for something, and Spock would murmur a solution, tone heavy with his exhaustion, and she would begin again.

There comes a point where he goes completely still, and Jim stops speaking long enough to understand the he's legitimately asleep. She traces her eyes over his pale face to his chest (which is slowly rising and falling) in the darkness of the room because she's wide-awake and unable to follow him into oblivion.

Jim is having a bit of an anxiety attack in regards to attending Frank's cremation in only a mere couple of hours. She's already been having an array of mixed feelings about the man, but to take this step—it's almost daunting.

Her stomach is tied up in knots, souring with light pinching pains that compel her to toss and turn beside Spock. It's surprising that all her fidgeting and movement doesn't wake him up. She's starting to learn that when a Vulcan sleeps, they _really _sleep. Lying face down with his arms tucked under her zebra-print pillow, Spock does not even stir once.

Jim finds it utterly fascinating, the innocence he displays. As his dark lashes twitch against his pale cheeks, she decides she wouldn't mind witnessing this for a long, long time.

The birds begin to sing—a clear sign that morning is well on its way to beginning.

Jim lets out a frustrated sigh as anger begins to unfurl inside her stomach. She sits up and hugs her legs to her chest as she drops her chin to her bare knees. Her blue eyes slide from dresser to dresser until they come to rest on the thick darkness of the closet.

She thinks about staying in bed for the rest of the day. She thinks about lying to Jenna and saying she's sick so she won't have to go. She thinks about packing up her things and ditching town, just like she did three years ago. She thinks about calling Bones and telling him how fucked up this all is—that she feels like a stranger here—that she's barely holding it together.

She thinks about comming Sarek and confessing to how much of a coward she really is. She thinks about comming T'Pau and asking her how she would do it, how she would get through this. She thinks about shaking Spock awake and begging him to make all of the confusion and grief and pain go away until she's free of it, hallow.

Jim feels her heart contract and her breath sort of shudders out of her body. She knows that if she doesn't change her line of thinking, she will have a full on panic attack. She throws her feet over the edge of the bed and walks carefully across the cool floorboards and to her bags. She goes fishing for some socks before she creeps over to Spock's luggage to steal one of his sweaters. She grabs one she's seen him wear—one with his scent still lingering.

She doesn't bother taking off her tank top or putting on a bra or taking off her pajama shorts. She just throws on Spock's reindeer sweater and slips her small feet into her socks. She remains as quiet as possible as she slides out of the room, across the hall, down the steps, through the kitchen, and onto the porch patio.

Jenna's already there with a lit cigarette.

Jim sits in the basket chair adjacent from hers and leans back as a river of silence fills in the spaces between them. It's cold, but she doesn't think neither of them mind it.

A bird chirps in a distance. Several more echo the call.

"Can't sleep either huh?" Jenna says, letting out a breath of smoke.

It's still pretty dark, so Jim can't make out her face all the way. She just sees the orange glowing tip of her cigarette. "No. I can't," she finally replies before she shifts and curls up into the chair.

Jenna just hums and sucks on her cigarette as the porch patio begins to reek with heady smell of smoking ash.

"Wouldn't have pegged you for a smoker," Jim comments as she watches her.

Jenna gracefully blows out a stream of smoke out of the side of her small mouth. "Yeah, well—I'm not really supposed to be. I've been trying to quit since Hayley was born." She snorts sardonically. "Don't tell my kids you saw me doing this either. I promised them I wouldn't—they say they want me to stick around for as long as I can because cancer kills." She rubs the heel of her hand into her right eye. "Just couldn't really help myself this time. I'm about to watch my father turn to ash and—I just can't really deal."

Jim makes a sound of agreement. "Can I have one?" she asks, because she wouldn't mind taking the edge off of her own stress. She doesn't smoke much, not like she used to, not since Starfleet—and mainly because she gets a headache from the nicotine (she might be a bit allergic). But like Jenna, she's willing to make the exception this time.

Jenna doesn't question why—just hands over her half-empty carton with a silver lighter.

Jim fishes one loose from the box and shoves it between her dry lips. She flicks her thumb over the lighter until a flame springs alive and she presses it to the end, sucking in until the tip illuminates a fiery orange. The smoke scrapes its way down her throat and claws at the walls of her lungs, unforgiving but sharply satisfying. She coughs a little but settles down after the third inhale/exhale.

Jenna catches her lighter and cigarettes easily when Jim tosses it back over. "So I called some of our relatives," she starts, exhaling smoke with the words. "Most of them said they'd be able to make it out. A few just hung up on me or laughed with that kind of 'I told you so' cackle. Assholes."

Jim snorts as she blows a stream of smoke from out of her nostrils. "You think we're going to have a full house?"

"Oh yeah," Jenna confirms as she flicks the ash into her empty can of soda. She picks it up and offers it to Jim, who takes it and flicks off the ash from her cigarette. "I still have a lot more people I have to call, but, um, Aunt Winona said she'd help with that too. See who she could touch basis with and everything."

Jim just hums and takes a few quick puffs.

"You know—she said she'll be heading out this way in two days," Jenna carefully remarks, eyeing her little cousin as though she were some ticking time bomb. As if a mere mention of Winona will set her off.

Jim just shrugs and looks through the screen windows of the porch patio. The rising sun is painting a blood orange veil across the horizon.

"You gonna be okay?" Jenna asks. "I mean, I hope I didn't cause any problems by asking her to stay here. I just thought, well, with the kids sleeping with me and those other empty rooms…" She trails off with a heady sigh. "It's just—Aunt Winona has been more understanding with me than anyone else in our family. And she's offering to help in any way she can—"

Jim cuts in, "Does she know I'm here?"

"Yeah."

Jim doesn't say anything.

"Jim?" Jenna leans forward and watches her as she flicks the ash from her cigarette into Jenna's can again. "Please."

"What do you want me to say, Jenna?" Jim spreads her hands and looks at her older cousin. "Hm?" she presses. "I really think it's great that she's being nice to you—that she's been decent. I just can't say the same." She shrugs with a blank expression. "I'll be civil. I will." She takes a long drag from her cigarette before continuing, "It's your house, so, I can't really say anything."

Jenna's mouth fidgets unhappily, and she looks like she has a million things she wants to voice. Ultimately though, what she does is lean back and cross her legs, finishing off her cigarette.

A bird chirps and flies by them, following its kin out across the flat fields and towards the rising sun.

Jim licks her bottom lip as she uses the knuckle of her thumb to smooth down the wily hairs of her eyebrows. Then she drops that hand to her mouth and begins chewing on her thumbnail.

Jenna coughs and sniffs as she leans forward to shove her cigarette bud into the mouth of the can sitting at Jim's waist. "You know what I just realized?"

Jim looks at her.

"You were named after our grandfather," Jenna remarks. "You ever meet him?"

Jim shakes her head in a negative.

"You act kind of like him too," Jenna says with a slight smile. "Oh he's gonna fall over himself when he meets you. I can already tell you're going to replace me as the apple of his eye."

Jim scoffs but she grins a little. "How old is he?" she asks. She's always known she has living grandparents on both sides of her family. But she's never thought to look them up because—well it's a bit much. Especially her father's parents. She doesn't think she'd be able to handle that. Maybe one day.

"He's 110 years old," Jenna says, sounding very proud of that fact. "Oldest Emerson we got."

Jim whistles, impressed. She shoves her cigarette bud in the can at her waist before setting it on the floor. "Guy that old—I'd be crazy to pass up an opportunity to meet him. I'm sure he's just brimming with stories," she supposes. "What about our grandmother?"

"Grandma Kate passed on about six months ago. And that was a real turn out. I saw family I didn't even know we had," Jenna explains as she stretches her small hands over her head. "You would have liked her. She was a real firecracker. Even in her ladder years. I know it broke Grandpa James' heart when she passed away."

"How did she die?" Jim asks with a furrowed brow.

"Nothing unnatural," Jenna assures. "She just kinda—went in her sleep."

Jim hums thoughtfully.

"I got a picture of them on my communicator if you want to see?" Jenna offers as she reaches for her device. She pulls it up and hands her communicator over so that Jim can see. "That one's from the family reunion we had last year around Thanksgiving," she explains. "We caught them while they were having a sit down in the front of the ranch house they have down in Fayetteville, Arkansas. That's where all our family originated from if you're ever curious to look up our ancestry history. But anyway, they were sitting under the vine arches looking all lovey-dovey and Uncle Vick snapped this picture and forwarded it to everyone."

(**_picture from above scene can be found in my livejournal or AO3 account in the same chapter_**)

Jim studies the photo with genuine interest. "They look really nice together," she decides.

"Oh you have no idea," Jenna chuckles nostalgically. "They had a classic love. They just really fit each other well. I mean, I hope I'll be able to meet someone who compliments me so well. I want to have what they had." She grins and says, "Grandpa James would surprise Grandma Kate with all kind of flowers and sweets. And Grandma Kate would buy special lingerie and dance around for him." She bursts out laughing as Jim follows suit. "I only know this because this is what they used to tell us young ones whenever anyone would ask how they managed to stay together for so long and keep the love alive."

Jim chuckles and shakes her head. "Yeah—sounds like something I would do if I were their age," she admits.

"Yeah, well," Jenna murmurs and sighs.

Jonah appears in the doorway, rubbing his eyes.

"What's the matter baby?" Jenna asks as she watches him.

Jonah doesn't give a reply. He just rubs at his eyes tiredly and shakes his head. He starts walking over as Jenna quickly hides her carton of cigarettes in one of the deep pockets of her leather handbag resting by her feet. He coughs and sounds terribly congested, which in turn makes Jenna look miserably concerned.

Jim wonders if this is the kind of territory that comes with having children. She'd experienced a bit of it with Jasel, Riesa, and Leona—but that had been for a short while, and they'd only gotten sick that one night. She smiles a bit as she thinks of it. She kind of misses those three peculiar kids. She wonders if they miss her.

_Wish there was a way I could contact them,_ she thinks. _Just to check up on them and see how they're doing._

"Come here, sweetie," Jenna urges, holding out her arms.

Jonah slides across the floor and curls up against his mother with a content sigh.

Jenna presses her lips to the ridges on his forehead as her hands gently roam around his cheeks with a thoughtful frown. "You're burning up," she murmurs in a tone laced with worry. "How do you feel?"

Jonah just shrugs tiredly as he stares up at her with unfocused eyes.

Jenna makes dissatisfied noises as she rubs a hand up and down his back.

Jim watches as Jonah leans into the embrace and gazes up at his mother with a sort of awed look of reverence. It's pretty endearing.

"Momma," he croaks with a hoarse voice. "I threw up."

Jenna's frown deepens. "Where?"

"In the bathroom. But I—I didn't make it to the toilet."

Jenna sighs, but she doesn't appear to be surprised at all. "Okay. Let's go get you sorted out." She stands and Jonah clings to her arm. "Jim—I'm going to go take care of him, but by the time I'm finished, I should be ready to go."

"Yeah. Take your time," Jim urges as she stands as well with a lazy stretch. "I can make breakfast for the kids so you don't have to."

"Oh thank you," Jenna says as she begins to guide Jonah into the kitchen and out to the stairs.

Jim just saddles up to the fridge and opens the freezer door to see what she has to work with. She comes to the decision to make apple cinnamon flavored oatmeal and biscuits.

The smell draws out Gwen, Grace, and Hayley, and they all come storming down the steps in thunder of sound. They climb onto the bar stools crowded around the kitchen island as they watch their older cousin with enthusiastic curiosity.

Jim smiles at them and sets down their plates before them, along with a glass of orange juice and their choice of jelly (apple, strawberry, and grape).

Hayley, Gwen, and Grace take a moment to pause with their eyes closed, citing a quiet prayer before they begin to dig in.

"This is so good," Grace says around a spoonful of oatmeal.

Gwen and Hayley quickly agree.

Jim smiles as she walks over to Grace and runs her fingers through her purple and black braids. "Thank you. Did you sleep okay? I didn't braid this too tight did I?" she asks.

Grace shakes her head, which causes her long braids to swing against her waist. "No. It aches a little but it's okay," she assures.

Gwen takes a bite of her biscuit before she says, "You'll do mine next right?"

"No she has to do mine first, then yours," Hayley corrects with a scowl.

"Shut up, because no one asked you," Gwen snaps as she rolls her eyes (twice).

Hayley glares at her older sister but she goes back to eating.

"No worries," Jim chimes as she makes Jenna a plate. "Everyone's hair will get braided. That's all that matters." She covers the plate and sets it aside before she makes herself a plate. She spends the next few moments chowing down. Then she says, "Can one of you take this plate up to your mother."

"I can do it!" Grace says, hopping up.

"No, I can!" Hayley protests but Grace is already grabbing the plate Jim set on the stove and scurrying away. Hayley scowls and sits back down.

Gwen snickers into her cup of orange juice.

"Shut up, Gwen!" Hayley hisses.

"Hey, come on. None of that, guys." Jim gives them a mild look of disapproval that cows them into silence. "I'm going upstairs now. If you want some more you can just get some. Just be sure to clean up after yourselves. The dishwasher is right here. Rinse off anything you put in there."

Hayley and Gwen give consenting nods.

Jim pushes away from the sink and passes Grace on her way out of the kitchen and up the stairs. She heads to her old room and peeks in to see Spock still in the same spot she left him in. She smiles and quietly presses the door shut behind her after she enters the room. Carefully, she creeps over to him and pushes him onto his back. She shoves the covers off his body and, as gently as she can, while she still has the element of surprise, throws her legs astride his waist, seating herself comfortably on his lower stomach before leaning forward until her lips are brushing his pointed ear.

"_Rise and shine, Mr. Spock,_" she whispers before unfurling her tongue and giving his pointed ear a sinfully slow dirty lick.

Spock's brow twitches into a frown as he stiffens under her. "_Jim_," he says with a highly annoyed tone. "You are disturbing my rest in the most unfitting manner."

Jim laughs huskily against his ear. "Time for you to get up," she says.

"Could you not have used another method to rouse me?" Spock asks as he traces his pale fingers over his wet ear with a deepening frown.

Jim pretends to think as she leans back to look him in the eye while placing her small hands on his chest, and she begins to slowly swivel her hips in a circular motion. "Hm—well I suppose there are—" She grinds down hard and the friction causes a flush of heat and pleasure to blossom between her legs. "—other _methods _I can use to _rouse _you."

Spock's breath hitches as he goes completely still under her. His fingers are twitching at his sides.

Jim places her hands behind her, on Spock's thighs, cocking her hips and giving another slow grind. "Did I ever tell you," she says, conversationally, even though she's kind of panting. She swivels her hips again and grins darkly when his hips shift up. "—about my _fun_ summer in Italy, where I took horseback riding lessons?" She swivels her hips to the left before she moves her hips back and forth with painstaking slowness.

"Jim," Spock breathes as his hot fingers coil along the outside of her bare thighs. He's giving her this strange, intense-like kind of stare. Like he's trying to see through her, beyond her, _inside _of her. He sits up until they're face to face, and he shudders under her as she grinds down again. He presses his forehead to hers as he watches her hips work. His voice has a husky pitch to it as he says, "You are—well?" He sounds confused.

Jim stills, and blinks because, okay, that's a weird thing to say. "What?" Seriously what?

Spock takes a moment to pull back and study her face as he inhales deeply—still holding onto his control. "You appear to be—propositioning me," he murmurs. His face takes on a lovely little hue of green. His fingers flex against her thighs. "You smell of ash, and there is a faint tinge of sadness being relayed to me from your body." He notices her halting expression, which begins to twist into a small form of confusion. He elaborates, "I do not desire to take advantage of you if you are emotionally compromised."

Jim flushes, and then blinks again because—_oh_. "Oh," she echoes out loud. This explained some things about his recent behavior. "Um—yeah," and that's all she can say for the moment. She takes a minute to gather herself. "I am a bit—I mean I don't know _what _I am but you're not—you _wouldn't _be taking advantage of me. I'm not looking for comfort sex if that's what you think. This is me wanting you. Despite everything else."

Spock's dark gaze moves quickly over the details of her face, and he still seems unsure, if the way his fingers flex over her thighs again is any indication.

Jim decides to swivel her hips, hoping to convince him. "I want you to touch me," she says quietly. She grabs his jaw with both of her hands and kisses him, gentle and slow, until she builds with hungry desperation, thrusting her tongue in his mouth and conquering his quivering lips with purpose. She keeps at it until his trembling mouth goes soft and pliant under her lips. Pulling back only a fraction, she asks lowly, "Do you want to touch me?"

Spock nods silently, seeming at a loss for words.

Jim grins while she bites down on his bottom lip and gives a tortuously slow grind. "I want you just like this," she pants as she works her hips in a clever little sway. "Wanna ride you until I can't feel my thighs," she mutters as delivers a slow lick across his upper lip. "Wanna make you beg."

Spock's eyes close tightly and his brow furrows deeply. His hands twitch in the lax grip he has on her thighs.

Jim drops one hand and presses it between his legs. She purrs against his mouth as her fingers curl along the outline of his arousal. "Or maybe," she continues. "You want my mouth." She licks the corner of his lips before she pulls back. "Right here and right now. Would you like that?"

"Affirmative," Spock breathes, in that hot, intellectual way of his. And that is just _not _fair.

"_Hm_," Jim purrs again and strokes her hand down his chest. She curls her legs around his hips. "I'd even let down my hair for you—and you'd like that wouldn't you? You always love it when I let my hair down just for you—"

Spock stiffens, grips at her waist as an abortive move and makes a choked sound. "Jim, you must not—"

But Jim pushes on anyway, "I'd let it all down for you. You'd have to hold it out of my face so I can work you with my tongue. I would ask you to hold my hair up—ask you to slide your hands through while you fuck my pretty little pink mou—" Her words are cut short by demanding lips and an almost frenzied tongue that is utterly ruthless in its claim. He pushes in and in and Jim almost chokes in an effort to keep up with the powerful strokes of his hot tongue.

Spock growls and pushes deeper until Jim is gasping and can do nothing but take it and slump against him as she goes dizzy and drunk with the kiss. He spends the extension of what seems like forever just learning each bump and curve of her teeth and the texture of the roof of her mouth and she feels her thighs shake weakly as she lets him. He makes a sound of satisfaction as he eases his tongue back and teases the tip of her own, licking the inside of her mouth like a cat would with a bowl of cream.

When he pulls away, Jim shudders, feeling hot all over as her nipples pebble behind her tank top, and she's aching between her legs, feeling dazed and properly tongue-fucked.

Spock leans his forehead against hers and trails the fingers of his right hand up the side of her neck, under her jaw, and finally, over her meld points. But he does nothing more than that, still holding back, still grappling at his control.

Jim bites her bottom lip and she wants it so bad that she's leaning into it—almost willing to even beg for it. It's been so long, _so _long. She's never done this with him—not like this and she wants it, _wants it_.

Spock makes an incoherent sound at the gesture, at the obvious desire he can probably feel burning through her skin and into his telepathic fingers. He still holds back though.

Jim gives a frustrated groan and begs, "Do it—I want it—want you. Come inside. Let me feel—"

"_Jim_," Spock hisses—pleads. "I—cannot. Not at this moment. It is neither the proper place or time."

"Just for a little while," Jim whispers as she swipes her tongue against the corner of his tense mouth and sucks on his bottom lip. "Come on. Just—"

_Knock, knock, knock._

Spock tenses and removes his hand from her face.

Jim groans pitifully as she drops her forehead onto Spock's shoulder. "You have to be kidding," she mutters. Louder, she says, "Yes?"

"_I was just trying to see if you were ready to go,_" Jenna replies from the other side of the door.

Jim curses lowly as she remembers. "Uh—yeah. Give me a few minutes, I'll be right down," she promises.

"_Okay_." Jenna's footsteps retreat.

Jim exhales, counting backwards from fifteen before she pulls back and looks at Spock, who appears to have come to his senses (unfortunately). "Rain check?" she suggests with an exaggerated pout.

"When it is the appropriate time," Spock delicately corrects. He gently extracts himself from under her and straightens his clothes as Jim's frown becomes more genuine. "You will need to dress yourself if you are to leave," he suggests, but his dark eyes are ripe with amusement.

Jim sticks her tongue out at him as she falls back dramatically, spreading her arms wide and staring up at the ceiling. "I don't actually want to go," she admits. "Once again, I thought I'd be okay but—" She pauses suddenly, struggling to find the right words to express herself. She ends up shrugging.

"This is to be expected," Spock remarks as he treks over to his luggage. "Your relationship with your uncle is of a complex nature. It is only logical that your feelings on his death is of an equal nature."

"Stop making sense," Jim grumbles childishly.

"I am unsure of what is you wish for me to say," Spock replies, not without subtle mirth.

Jim rolls onto her stomach and watches as he picks out an outfit for himself. "I _want_ you to say that I don't have to go. That I can stay here, cooped up in this room with you, spreading my legs and—"

Spock's shoulders tense and he quickly interjects, "I implore you not to finish that sentence."

Jim closes her mouth and sulks. "Why not?"

"Because I will be tempted to agree with your suggestion," Spock confesses, reluctantly. "I would rather my opinion on the matter be unclouded by compromised judgment."

Jim folds her arms under her chin and she hides her smug smile behind them. "I'm flattered," she mutters.

"Of that, I have no doubt," Spock counters, and he sends her a look from over his shoulder before he walks to her luggage. "You will go because you are strong and brave," he decides, pulling a pair of jeans free and tossing it to her. He doesn't seem surprised when she makes no attempt to catch them, and lets them land on her back. "And because you require closure. You will be there to offer your cousin support, as I am sure she will do the same."

Jim watches as he approaches her and he drops to his knees before her.

"You will grieve," Spock continues, softly. "And you will mourn as you bare witness to your uncle's final departure." He reaches forward and strokes his fingers over the blunt curve of her right ear. "You will cry, whether it is your choice to do so or not. And you will feel lost for a little while." His dark eyes traces over her face as she swallows dryly. "But you will return home to me, and I will help you find yourself again."

Jim shudders and closes her eyes as his words shake something deep and vulnerable inside of her. "Okay," she says. She takes a deep breath before she finds the strength to stand and grab her jeans. Before she can change her mind, she marches into the bathroom to put her pants on and brushes out her bangs as she puts her hair into messy bun resting on the crown of her head. When she comes out, Spock is waiting for her (already dressed) with her coat, her keys, and her purse.

Jim gives a weak smile of thanks as he helps her put her jacket on. He wraps her orange scarf around her neck while she puts on her gloves and rubs chapstick over her lips. She barely gets the cap back on before he's kissing her with a distracting amount of intent, using his hot, agile tongue to lick away the layer she's rubbed on. It probably doesn't help that her chapstick is grapefruit flavored (she's come to understand this is his favorite flavor).

Spock eventually restrains himself long enough to pull away and herd her out the door, down the steps and beside Jenna, who is already waiting by the front door.

Jenna flicks her gaze between them with unconcealed amusement curling at the corner of her lips while her daughters chase each other in a loop through the kitchen to the dining room across the foyer and back again.

Jim just innocently reapplies her chapstick while avidly ignoring the way Spock's hot hand is burning heatedly against her lower back.

"I just want to thank you again, Spock, for watching my kids. You have my comm link, so call me if you need anything at all or if they are misbehaving," Jenna rambles. "Jonah is upstairs, tucked away in my bed. He'll most likely sleep the day away since he doesn't feel well. I think he has the flu, which in that case, please provide him with liquids every hour." She takes a moment to think. "And if you can, get him to eat something. Just so his body has some help with fighting that entire virus off. Again you have my comm link. If his temperature keeps rising, let me know, but I don't think it will. He might throw up, so I put a bucket I found by the bed for him. He knows to use it."

Spock inclines his head in understanding.

Jenna exhales and relaxes. "Okay. Okay." She turns and uses her middle fingers to whistle really loudly.

Jim and Spock wince at the sound.

Gwen, Grace, and Hayley, however, come to a stuttering halt and stand at attention before their mother.

"You three _behave_. You hear me? Be on your best behavior. Your brother is sick and that is all I want Spock to be worried about, do you understand?" Jenna says, sternly.

Gwen, Grace, and Hayley nod fervently.

"Good. Because if I hear otherwise, so help me, I will spank your butts raw until you cannot even sit down for an entire week," Jenna warns.

Gwen, Grace, and Hayley's eyes go comically wide and they rapidly nod.

Jenna relaxes before she spreads her arms. Gwen, Grace, and Hayley immediately rush in and hug her. She drops a kiss to each one of their foreheads and accepts their kisses on her cheeks.

"Love you, momma."

"Love you!"

"I love you most!"

Jenna smiles with indescribable joy before her eyes go a bit misty and she has to wiggle herself free of their grips. "Go on now. I'm already crying and I haven't even left yet," she complains.

Gwen, Grace, and Hayley giggle and tuck away in the front room.

Jenna exhales again before she nods to Jim.

Jim slides her fingers against Spock's before she follows Jenna out the door, and they trek down the porch steps to her cherry red car. They climb in and she starts the car, letting the engine (as well as the inside of the car) heat up before she drives off in the direction of town.

The fifteen-minute car ride is silent—Jim and Jenna are equally lost to their own thoughts.

Jim pulls up to the funeral home and parks, turning off her car as her nerves begin to leap wildly. She pries her hands from the steering wheel and grabs her purse from the back as they both climb out the car.

They approach the brick building; it looms overhead like something tall and foreboding.

Jim follows Jenna through the glass double doors and across the lobby where a male receptionist resides behind a u-shaped desk. After Jim explains who they are and why they're there, he guides them to the elevator and pushes the floor button.

"It's the room all the way at the end of the hall," Shannon (as his nametag reads) says. "That's the morgue. You have to first claim your family member before the process can be completed." He steps back and out of the way as the lift doors swish close.

They ascend to the fifth floor, and make their way to the end of the hall, just as they were told.

In big, bold, gold letters on a decorative stained glass door reads 'morgue' in all capitals.

Jim and Jenna kind of stand there, as though some cataclysmic fate await them on the other side of the door. It's quite ridiculous for a number of reasons.

In the end, it's Jenna who opens the door. She marches through and strides right up to the elderly woman with gray hair and thick black framed glasses in a lab coat, holding a PADD.

Jim strides up behind her and lets her older cousin take the reigns on this one. She merely signs off on the documents quietly as Jenna continues to ramble.

Barbara (as her nametag reads) nods sympathetically and guides them to a room filled with silver drawers and electronic nameplates. She pulls open the one that read 'Emerson, Franklin'.

Jim winces watchfully as Barbara tugs down the white sheet Frank is under.

Frank lies cold and motionless on that table, lips blue and hair thinned to nothing. His cheeks are hollow and his body looks thin and sickly frail.

Jim feels a vicious twist of guilt when she's reminded of how he had attempted to reach out to her a couple of months ago. The fingers of her right fist curl tightly into her palm as she recalls her rather dismissive and scathing last words. Her jaw clenches tight as she swallows and fights the burning build up of tears she can already begin to feel swell along the corners of her eyes.

When she looks over, she sees Jenna is no better. Her eyes are red-rimmed and her bottom lip is trembling.

Barbara quietly excuses herself to get a stretcher so she can cart Frank's body down to the cremation chambers.

Jim walks over to Jenna and laces her fingers with hers, giving a comforting squeeze that Jenna returns with a glassy-eyed smile. Together they follow Barbara down to the basement floor where the cremation chambers lie.

Barbara introduces them to the cremation conductor, Clark (like the comic book hero, he jokes in a sad attempt to lighten the mood), and he goes about explaining to them the initial process.

"After we set him on the retractable slab, and once we draw his body in—the chamber door, which is about a half a foot thick, closes," Clark explains. "Then that's when I start the machine, which normally goes through a warm up cycle before the main burning begins. After the machine is warmed up, the main burner ignites, starting the process of incinerating the body. It generally takes about 1 and 1/2 to 2 hours for a body to be completely reduced to just the bone fragments by cremation, with a 30 minute cool down period."

Jim and Jenna nod.

"We can start whenever you're ready," Clark adds, gently.

Jenna squeezes Jim's fingers as she says, "We're ready."

Clark indicates to Barbara to assist him as they all move to the far end of the room where the cremation machine lies in wait. Together they place Frank's cold and naked body on the metal slab and arrange his lifeless limbs accordingly.

Jenna presses her hand to her mouth as she trembles, squeezing Jim's hand so very tight.

Jim gives a shuddering exhale as she swallows.

Clark moves behind the operating console and begins the process of starting the machine.

Barbara exits on the promise of returning with an urn they can use to place his ashes in.

Jim watches as the gradual increase of flames appear through the opened hatch.

The machine makes a whirring sound and Frank's body gets slowly pulled into the opening.

Jim jolts slightly when she feels the warm slide of tears begin to descend down her flushed cheeks. She lifts her free hand and wipes the tip of her fingers across her cheeks in confusion. Her shoulders shake as the realization of how deep and thick her grief is overwhelms her. Her heart feels like its fallen into her gut, and the sorrow she feels spreads through her stomach.

Jenna lets go of her hand and coils her arm around her waist, pressing close and sniffling into Jim's shoulder as the machine door closes.

Jim doesn't think she can forgive Frank for everything he did to her. How could she? She's fighting with herself on the inside. There's a side of her that wants to laugh and spit on him, crying good riddance. But there is another part of her that knows that he must have been alone when he died, desperately fretting that he had not accomplished all that he had hoped to do in righting his wrongs. There is a part of her that has already reconciled—that's tired of holding onto all the anger and all the hate.

Frank was a bastard—a mean drunk, and selfish to boot. But he came into this world with every good intention. It took him until his last days to realize that he could do better for himself, and better for those he cared to call family. Underneath the brokenness, and the anger, and the addiction, was a good heart.

A heart that is lost to them and survived only by his desire to seek redemption from those he most hurt.

Jim wonders if he thought of his sins. She wonders if he whispered a name, felt the bitter disappointment of their absence as the frighteningly dark pull of death ate at the edge of his vision. It's enough to make her stomach ache. She cries with Jenna without understanding why. She's unsure if this is what one would call grief. She does feel sad, but other than that she just feels empty.

Jenna sniffs, and mutters gratefully when Clark approaches them with a box of tissue.

Jim dabs at the corners of her eyes but the tears wont stop. Her body is acting on its own will and her brain is desperately trying to make sense of it all.

It's not until they reach the two-hour mark that Jim realizes she feels something stronger than deep sorrow: bitter remorse. She had formed a bond with Frank, and for the first couple of years of her life, he was all she knew. He hurt her and in turn, she learned to be guarded. He fought her because she was weak, so she grew tough. He shoved her out the door and into the world when she wasn't ready, but she adapted and she learned how to survive all on her own. She learned that she _could_ survive.

Frank, unintentionally, helped her become the person she is today. Through him, she learned some of the toughest lessons in life, and she overcame every single one of them. He was a shitty guardian, but she still got what she needed from him.

Jim laughs suddenly, delirious with her grief, and both Jenna and Clark look at her with concern. She knows they wont understand, and she doesn't try to explain herself.

Barbara returns with the urn, just as Clark sorts through Frank's remains. When he deems it acceptable, he places the fragments in a special processor, which pulverizes the bone fragments to ashes. The ashes are then put into the urn and handed to Jenna.

This, unfortunately, causes Jenna to weep for a solid twenty-five minutes before Jim has to spirit her out the door and up the stairs to the first floor. She rubs a hand up and down Jenna's back as they pass the reception area and exit through the glass double doors,

Jim almost stumbles down the steps when flashing lights suddenly blinds them, and they become bombarded by photographers.

"Ms. Kirk!"

"Ms. Kirk, over here!"

"Ms. Kirk!"

Jim scowls at the ground as she pulls Jenna close and tries to navigate around the relentless paparazzi, but they crowd and follow like vultures.

"Is there any truth to the pregnancy rumors going around?"

"Are you actually marrying your First Officer?"

"Isn't it against regulation to date your officers?"

"What are you wearing?"

"What do you think about the attack on the Federation Supreme Court?"

"Ms. Kirk, does the name Gary Mitchell hold any significance to you?"

Jim opens the passenger side door for Jenna and watches her slide in as she avidly ignores the questions being thrown at her back. She shuts the door and fishes for her sunglasses out of her purse, slapping them on and trying to maneuver around the paparazzi.

"_Christ_, can I get in my car?" Jim snaps as she fishes for her car keys. She climbs in but they crowd around her car so that she can't go anywhere.

"This is harassment," Jenna mutters as she sinks down in her seat and pulls her hood over her face.

Jim just agrees with a deepening frown.

"What is your affiliation to Kodos?"

"Is it true he attempted to take your life, as well as the lives of several officers under your command?"

"Did you know that Dr. Karidian is in the process of writing a tell all book about his time behind bars for a wrongful conviction and his connection to Kodos?"

"An anonymous source claims that you were one of the fifty survivors of the Tarsus massacre—can you confirm this?"

Jim punches her fist against the steering wheel before she lowers her window. "Look," she says as patiently as she can. "My family and I are in the process of grieving, so please, do me the grandest favor of respecting our privacy during this difficult time and _fuck_ the fuck _off_."

That gets them to step out of the way.

Jim doesn't waste a second before she peels off and leaves them in her dust. She continuously checks her rearview mirror for any cars that might be following her, but thankfully none does. She also takes the time to spring the news on Jenna concerning her inheritance, the settlement, and everything Frank did. Jenna kind of sits in a stunned silence before she starts crying all over again, which in turn makes Jim cry a bit because she understands how much the lack of money can be a burden. She says as much and Jenna laughs a bit with delirious joy and that sets Jim off as well. They spend the last minutes of the ride home laughing and crying and trying to make sense of the man Frank was.

Jim parks her car in the garage and follows Jenna, who looks as tired as Jim feels, inside the house.

They find Spock and the girls on the floor of the living room. He's acting as their makeup mannequin.

Jenna almost drops her father's ashes, she so startled.

Jim on the other is trying not to pee herself, she's laughing so hard.

Spock is full on decked out with glittery purple eye shadow, volumizing mascara, candy pink blush, and devil red lipstick.

Gwen, Grace, and Hayley stop their artwork to hop to their feet and bombard their mother with hugs, claiming how much they missed her but also how much fun Mr. Spock is.

Jim takes the opportunity to sink to her knees beside him and really study his face. "Should I ask or is best left to the imagination?"

Spock lifts an eyebrow, and it's ridiculous how well he can still pull it off. "Gwen and Hayley spun a tale of woe in regards to being unable to express their flair for cosmetics and articulated the deepest of sorrows that their mother would not allow them to practice on themselves. It was only logical to—"

"No," Jim snorts, cutting him off. "There is literally nothing you can say after 'logical' that's going to make this seem any less hilarious."

Spock considers that with a thoughtful expression.

Jim smiles as she watches him watching her. "I do have to admit though," she says. "You do look fierce. I think they might have conned you. This is definitely not beginner's technique."

"In any case, I was content to offer my assistance," Spock decides as he stands and takes her with him.

Jim touches her hand to his side, and feels something clench tight in her gut. She's not sure what to call it—she just knows that she always wants him within reach.

"Spock, I am so sorry," Jenna says, approaching him. "They are just—I'm sorry. I don't know what they told you but I _do _let them wear makeup, just never outside of the house."

Grace, Gwen, and Hayley have the good grace to look guilty.

"It is of no consequence. I believe we bonded over the experience," Spock calmly reasons.

Jenna looks at him with newfound respect. "If you say so. Just try not to let them swindle you. If they think they can, they will," she warns before she tosses her daughters a stern look. "How's Jonah?"

"Resting still. I was, however, able to coax him into ingesting a bit of broth," Spock reports.

"Oh good. Thanks," Jenna replies. "I think I'll go up there and lay with him for a bit."

"Wait! Momma, I'm hungry!" Hayley cries as she grabs onto Jenna's hand after her mother places Frank's urn on the mantle of the fireplace.

Gwen and Grace are quick to agree.

Jim curls her fingers around Spock's wrists and drags him up the steps, to her old room and into the bathroom. She leans against the sink and watches him remove the makeup.

The faucet hums with warm water as he dips a navy blue hand towel under the stream.

"I feel like I learn more and more about you each day," Jim comments as she watches him. "You're ready to bring me up on charges of cheating without a second thought, but you're also kind enough to let three prepubescent half-Cardassian girls trick you into playing Barbie for them. You are just blowing my mind."

Spock rubs away the eye shadow from his left eye and says, "I was not always this way." He dips the towel under the stream again. "They reminded me of the family I lost. Kin I had never desired to know or devote time to. I was livid with my people, of their views, and small mindedness. When I came to Earth, I came with the intention of never returning," he explains. "After Vulcan perished, and our numbers dwindled, I have come to realize how delicate life is. It is meant to be enjoyed, not to hold hatreds, or scorn things not visibly understood."

Jim is impressed. She completely understands what he's saying because, after Tarsus, that is something she learned for herself. It's a tough lesson to learn, so she's sympathetic to his viewpoint. If she had lost all that he had lost, she supposes it would change her too, make her less guarded and more open-minded.

And also, she supposes that being on Earth, around humans and the like, reminds him of his mother. Perhaps this is his way of reconnecting with her. He once said that his truest regret was never telling her just how much he loved her. And plus, Jim figures he could never be this open and empathetic among his own people. They certainly wouldn't understand, but Jim does.

People on Earth are a lot more accepting and hospitably tolerant, rather than judgmental and uptight. Don't get Jim wrong, she holds a lot of love for Vulcans and she can handle them even on her worst day—but they still have to grow and see beyond what they know or what is 'logical'.

"How was the ceremony?" Spock asks after a while, breaking the comfortable silence.

Jim shifts her weight and looks down at her ankle boots. "It wasn't a ceremony _per say_," she reasons. She folds her arms across her chest and holds on at the elbows. "But it was hard," she admits. Even as she speaks, she feels the clutch of deep sorrow clench around her heart. It makes her breathe shakily as the oncoming threat of tears begins to buildup.

Why should she cry for him—why does he deserve her sadness? He doesn't—_doesn't_. She hates him—_hates _him.

_No you don't_, Jim thinks as warm tears spill down her cheeks. _You could never hate anyone. You just weren't ready to let him go. It's like Pike all over again, only this time, I have closure and I don't know what to do with it._

Spock pulls her to him and he presses his lips against the side of her hair. "I am here," he murmurs. "It is normal to grieve, Jim."

Jim chokes on a small sound and hides her face in his shoulder. She's so confused—lost. She grips onto him tight and tries to navigate herself through the labyrinth of her sorrow.

There's so much anger and sadness.

Spock guides her through it as he walks her to the bed, where they lay down on their sides, facing each other and curled together. He strokes his hand up and down her back as she chokes out soft sobs. He consoles her with gentle words and gentle touches.

Jim is so angry—at herself and at Frank. She's sad and it's gut wrenching. It takes maybe half of the day before she accepts what she's feeling with quiet poise. She knows that it may only be temporary, and that she might start this cycle all over again, but she accepts that as well.

Spock continues, upon her request, to talk to her. He talks about the lessons he used to teach back at the Academy, about the life cycle of Andorian Alicornes, about the names of Federation officials he can name off the top of his head in exact order, about the fascinating aspects of hot peppers and how they get their heat from a molecule called capsaicin.

He slides his hand under her shirt as she calms down into a fit of quiet, breathy hiccups, and he traces the chemical structure of all the elements in the periodic table against the skin of her lower back. He makes her name each one (cleverly choosing not to go in exact order).

Jim falls asleep with the garbled pronunciation of 'magnesium' in her mouth. She briefly thinks she might be in love with him, and surprisingly, for once, it doesn't freak her out.

Sometime later, Spock wakes her up for dinner, which happens to be a macaroni and string bean casserole (made by Jenna with the help of her daughters).

Jim claims that she isn't hungry, but she still eats out of Spock's bowl, who gets slightly exasperated when she continues to decline his offer of making her, her own plate.

Gwen and Hayley eventually lure her away and into the front room, where she proceeds with the motions of braiding their hair (Gwen gets pink and black while Hayley gets blue and black) as they all watch the classic rendition of 'The Wizard of Oz' (the girls' favorite movie).

Jenna keeps Jonah company upstairs, and Spock remains in the kitchen, working on some kind of project.

For a short while, Jim finds peace in the mundaneness of the evening. She doesn't know when she'll get to just sit down like this and do what she enjoys doing.

888

Winona arrives on a snowy Friday morning, a day later than what she had said.

It's the 21st of December, and Jim's sitting on a basket chair with a fleece blanket wrapped around her in the porch patio by herself, watching the sunrise with a thoughtful silence and shivering against the cold seeping in through the screen windows.

Everyone is still asleep, and the whole house is quieter because of it.

Jim watches the grey sky as a thick flurry of snow begins to litter the ground in a swirling dance of white. The rising sun paints a blood orange path behind the thick grey curtain of clouds. She draws her knees close to her chest and capes herself with the fleece blanket as her numb toes wiggle.

Just as she begins to drift off into sleep again, the doorbell rings.

Jim frowns but she drops her socked feet to the floor and hikes to the front door. She can make out some figures from behind the white curtain stitched to the lining of the door window. She opens the door and stiffens in surprise at the sight of Winona, her husband, and their kids.

Jim feels her heart twist as she catches the blue eyes (eyes much like her own) of George. He watches her guardedly, but there is the faintest bit of hope surfacing behind his handsome face. He has neatly cut dark hair, and he's almost as tall as Winona—as Jim. She smiles slowly, like she can't help it, and he seems to relax at that and smile back.

"You gonna stare, Jim, or are you going to let us in?" Winona says, shortly.

Jim looks at her sharply, and holds back a scathing remark when she sees how tired and worn she looks. She moves out of the way and lets them through.

"Hi. I know we haven't met. I'm Olsen," Winona's husband says, introducing himself. He offers a hand while he uses his other hand to hold a sleeping Hannah. She can't help but to notice how young he looks. He's taller than the doorway, and he has a build like some kind of athlete (which explains George's height). He has long dark brown hair that falls around his ears and green eyes with quite a handsome face and an even sunnier smile. He looks to be in his early thirties, but Jim can't tell. In any case, he certainly doesn't look like a doctor, but more like a professional baseball player. He says, "It's nice to finally meet you."

Jim shakes his hand curiously. "Jim. Likewise," she says, because it is the polite thing to do. She cant help that her gaze keeps dropping to Hannah, who looks so small and delicate in his arms, then to Sylvia, who is staring up at her curiously. And then there's George—God, she has so much she wants to say to her little brother, so much she wants to ask.

"Who are you?" Sylvia asks with a mousy voice as she stares up at Jim with green eyes. She has dark brown hair like her father, like George. "Are you Jim?" she asks.

Jim smiles wide at that. "Yes. I'm Jim."

"You're my big sister!" Sylvia says loudly and ignores Winona's scolding hush. "You're a Captain."

Jim chuckles and nods. "How old are you?" she asks, even though she already knows.

"I'm five," Sylvia says, and she seems short for her age, standing as tall as Jim's waist. Jonah seemed taller than her, and they're practically the same age.

Winona removes her gloves. "Where's the bathroom?" she asks.

Jim gestures to the kitchen but doesn't say much else to her.

Winona doesn't seem to care.

"If you want, you can come sit in the living room. You don't have to stand. Everyone's sleep," Jim suggests.

Olsen smiles and nods as he follows her into the living room. He carefully sits and removes Hannah's coat without jostling her. He lays her down so that her head is in his lap while he removes her boots and sets them on the floor.

Jim sits on the couch adjacent to him while George sits across from her on the other side of the coffee table.

Sylvia just skips all pretenses and climbs right onto Jim's lap like she's entitled to it.

"Sylvia," Olsen admonishes as he begins to take off his own coat. "You have to ask before you get all comfortable in someone's lap."

"But she's my sister," Sylvia replies, looking genuinely confused. She looks to Jim for confirmation.

Jim snorts and says, "It's okay. I don't mind."

Olsen looks unsure but he nods and doesn't say anything else as he leans back.

"Can you help me take off my coat?" Sylvia asks as she wiggles and struggles with the buttons of her trench coat.

Jim reaches up and helps her unfasten the buttons, not missing the way that George watches them curiously. "So did you have a long drive?" she questions, conversationally.

"Not really. We left out pretty early, that's why we all look dead on our feet. We came from Madison, Wisconsin—so not too far," Olsen supposes, tiredly. He follows it with a yawn.

"If you want, you can go upstairs and lay down. There are three empty rooms free. You can take one of them," Jim offers.

Olsen smiles, and it's nice and kind. "Thank you, I will. As soon as my wife returns." He looks to George. "What about you, kiddo? You want to go lay down?"

George shakes his head and scratches his cheek tiredly.

Winona returns and looks even more disgruntled than she did when she first arrived. "Are you going to get our bags?" she asks, but not unkindly.

Olsen raises both his eyebrows. "Do you need them right now? I thought we could wait a bit longer," he says.

"I don't want to wait, Olsen. I want my bags now," Winona replies as she begins to unfasten the buttons of her coat.

Olsen sighs and stands. "Yes, dear. Whatever you say, dear," he mutters, careful not to jostle Hannah as he slides from under her. He walks up to Winona, he's at a staggering advantage in height. "But first you have to say the magic words," he murmurs and shifts his eyebrows suggestively with a wide grin.

Winona tries her best to glare up at him, but Jim can tell her defenses are slipping. "Go get the bags or I will make your life a living hell," she weakly warns.

Olsen's grin just widens out into a smile as he nips at her bottom lip and makes ridiculous cooing noises that make her laugh and punch at his shoulder.

"Okay, please, you asshole," Winona says as she wiggles out of his pawing grasp. "Please, please, please."

"Now that's what I like to hear. Take note of your mother's manners, kids. Manners are important," he quips cleverly as he returns to the living room for his coat. He slides it on and winks at Jim who does her best to tamper down a grin.

George makes a face and rolls his eyes at his parents.

Olsen takes a moment to pat himself down before slides by Winona, giving her a firm smack on her ass that she glares and fusses at him for. He just smiles as he trots out the front door and into the snow.

Jim can't help but to wonder how a young, lighthearted guy like that ended up with someone so stormily moody as Winona. _Wonders never cease it seems_, she thinks amusedly.

Winona makes her way around the couch and sits down beside Hannah, stroking the wily wisps of her ginger hair.

Jim feels strange being in the same room with her, unsure of what to say or do or how to act. She begins to desperately wish Spock were here to help her stomach this.

"So, Jenna tells me that you and her attended Frank's cremation," Winona remarks suddenly, drumming up a bit of conversation in a poor attempt of being civil. "How did that go?"

"About as typical as cremation goes, how else?" Jim counters, unrepentant.

Winona purses her lips as she stares at Jim with a stony expression. "I'm trying to courteous here, Jim," she clarifies, unnecessarily.

"Wow. And only twenty years late," Jim drawls with a sarcastic smile.

"_Jim_."

"No, you know what? It's fine. Completely fine. You don't have to start doing me any favors, _Winona_."

"Are you going spend the rest of your life being upset with me? Because that's just a tad bit sad and immature."

"Oh _I'm _immature. I'm the one being immature? Are you serious? Are you being _genuinely real_ right now?"

"I already said everything I meant to say to you that day I sat down with you in that restaurant, so I don't understand why you're going out of your way to make things difficult."

"Oh my God I could say so much to you right now but most of it isn't appropriate for them so I won't."

"I don't have time for this. I'm tired and my brother just died—I really don't need this," Winona decides as she picks up Hannah. "Come on, Sylvia."

Sylvia frowns and presses closer to Jim. "I want to stay," she whines.

"I said come on. I'm not saying it again," Winona calmly states and waits.

Sylvia's eyes get glossy and she climbs off of with an annoyed sound.

"You better fix your face, Sylvia. I'm serious. I'm not in the mood for one of your tantrums," Winona says with severe firmness.

Sylvia just crosses her arms moodily, stomps past Winona and up the steps.

Winona gives a heady sigh as she follows after her. "George, tell your father we'll be in this middle room. And you can come up too when he gets back. Understand?"

"Yes, ma'am," George replies softly. It's the first time he's spoken.

Jim watches him carefully as he watches her, and they both listen to Winona's retreating footsteps, followed by the quiet click of the door shutting. "I'm sorry about that. I didn't mean to fuss at your mother in front of you," she says.

George furrows his brow. "It's okay. I know how she can be. But—she's your mother too. Not just mine," he decides.

Jim snorts bitterly as she leans back against the back of the couch. "Trust me, George. She's more your mother than mine," she reasons.

"You want to know what I think?" George says as he takes off his coat. "I think you and her are a lot alike. That's why you bump heads so much."

Jim lifts both her eyebrows. "How old are you again?" she asks amusedly.

George gives a dimpling smile and he looks so much like his father in that moment that it's frightening. "I'll be thirteen soon," he admits. "Doesn't mean I don't know what I'm talking about."

"No, I know that," Jim quickly assures. "Quite the opposite. You sound—so much older than you look. Its admirable."

"Yeah, well," George says with a light flush and a shrug. "I get it from my dad, I'm told."

Jim nods agreeably as she studies him. He's so very handsome, just like his dad. It makes Jim both proud and wary, just for the simple fact that it springs up all sorts of instinctively protective feelings. "Do you have a girlfriend?" she asks, because she can't help it. "You know you're too young to date right?"

George grins slowly and he looks at her with a face she recognizes right away, because it's a face that she makes herself whenever someone compliments her looks. Dear Lord, they are _so _related. "I actually have several girlfriends—give or take three boyfriends," he replies evenly.

Jim opens her mouth but she doesn't have a response to give. She has no idea if he's joking or not.

Olsen chooses that moment to stumble into the house with a cloud of snow and armfuls of luggage of multiple colors and sizes. He gently drops them to the floor before he shakes off a shiver and closes the door behind him. "It is really coming down out there," he reports as he brushes off all the snow tacked to his coat.

"Is your son dating?" Jim questions with narrowed eyes.

Olsen blinks before he belts out a joyful laugh. "He's got a face on him doesn't he? Winona asks him that everyday he comes home from school. It's gotten worse with his age. She'll probably lock him up by the time he reaches high school," he jokes.

Jim huffs and says, "For once I might agree with her parenting methods."

Olsen snickers at that. "Speaking of my wife—where is she?"

"She went upstairs. She told me to tell you that she'd be in the middle room," George explains. "I'm supposed to come up with you when you go."

Olsen nods but glances between them. "You can stay down here. I know how much you've looked forward to meeting your mega cool big sister," he says and grins when George blushes.

"_Dad_."

"What? It's true," Olsen says as he begins picking up the luggage. "You let me worry about your mom. You two enjoy yourselves." He sends Jim a friendly wink before he climbs the steps.

Jim immediately decides that she likes Olsen very much. As she turns to George, she says, "So you think I'm mega cool?"

George flushes again. "I never actually said that!" he protests.

"Awe, don't be embarrassed. I'm very honored that my little brother thinks so highly of me," Jim teases with a grin.

"Don't be smug, Jim. It's not cute," George huffs even as he echoes her grin.

Jim laughs. "You would know all about being cute, wouldn't you?" she counters.

George rolls his eyes as he folds his arms across his chest and leans back against the back of the couch. "I can't help the way I look, you know."

"Why would you want to?" Jim quips. "So do you still want to be an Engineer or should I peg you down for a career in modeling?"

George rolls his eyes again but he says, "I'm not sure what I want to do. I might like to be an Engineer, but I also like writing. I might become a writer."

"That's neat. Do you have stories you've already written?"

"Yeah, a few from when I was younger and some now. Don't ask me to show you because I wont. I don't let anyone read them."

"How exactly are you going to be a writer if you don't want anyone to read what you write?"

"I don't know. I'll figure it out."

Jim just snorts.

"Thank you," George says. "For writing back—to all my letters that I wrote. For a long time I didn't know what to think. I thought maybe you didn't—" He stops short before he shakes his head. "I'm just glad you did."

"Of course I would," Jim firmly assures. "Do you know how I felt when I learned I had a brother and sisters?" She shakes her head. "I just hope you understand how much I love you guys, even if this is our first time really meeting face to face. You're my family and you mean a lot to me. You are practically my motivation."

George ducks his head shyly but Jim can still make out the smile spreading across his lips. "I—love you too, Jim."

Jim feels her eyes go misty and she makes an annoyed sound at herself because she's really not trying to cry, but she can't deny how touched she is at hearing those words come from him. She quickly wipes her eyes dry. "I'm sorry. I've been a bit of an emotional mess for the past couple of days."

"It's okay," George says, quietly. "Uncle Frank's death has been hard on momma too. She hasn't stopped crying since she first learned how sick he was."

Jim's a bit surprised at that. She would have thought that Winona held as much regard for him as she did Jim. "Was she—I mean, were they close?" she asks.

George shrugs as he thinks. "I think they used to be. But that was before—" He cuts himself off with a guilty flush.

"Before I was born?" Jim adds, filling in the blanks.

George bites his bottom lip and nods.

Jim rubs her knuckles up and down her right leg, and tries to ignore the sting she feels at that bit of information.

"I'm sorry, Jim. Maybe I shouldn't have said anything," George supposes with a furrowed brow. "But I think the whole reason why they had a falling out is because momma wanted to leave you behind and Uncle Frank didn't think it was right."

Jim swallows dryly as her fingers curl into thin fabric of pajama bottoms. "How old is Hannah?" she asks, desperate for a change of subject.

George looks at her with his blue eyes, and she can tell he's trying to make sense of her expression. "She just turned three," he answers.

"She's so small," Jim remarks as she thinks of her.

"We all were," George explains. "Everyone on my dad's side of the family were like little midgets when they were first born. Then we just kind of stretch out after we hit puberty, I guess. Dad thinks Hannah and Sylvia will be as tall as me."

"Well that'll certainly be something," Jim supposes as she imagines it. "I think I'd like to be a little taller, but I think that's wishful thinking."

George smiles quietly and doesn't comment.

"So did Winona tell you that Jenna and her kids are here? This is gonna be their house," Jim says, even though Jenna hasn't confirmed it. She's pretty confident that Jenna will stay.

"Yeah, she said something about," George confirms, but then he makes a face. "I've seen them at the family reunions and everything. I like Jenna, but, her daughters Gwen and Hayley have a crush on me. Its uncomfortable since we're cousins."

Jim snickers because she can totally see that. Her little brother is unnervingly handsome—of course he'd draw the affections of all manner of adolescent girls. "Do you have a girlfriend or boyfriend?"

George suddenly looks solemn, which worries her. "No, uh—not really? I don't know. It's complicated," he admits.

"Whoa now. You're still _way _too young to be using those terms when referring to relationships," Jim says.

"I know," George agrees, but he still looks sad. "There's just—there's this girl. Well she's not just any girl, she's, um, she was my best friend's little sister." He fidgets as his frown deepens. "Did I ever tell you about Peter?"

Jim recognizes the name from George's many letters. He'd died from an illness when they were both still nine. She knows that he was devastated. "Yeah. You did," she says, quietly.

George nods again and swallows. "Then you see why it's complicated. I like her and I'm pretty sure she likes me but—I don't know. Do you think it would be wrong if we dated?"

"What's her name again?"

"Aurelian."

Jim hums thoughtfully. She says, "I think it's up to you, but I don't think you should feel guilty. I'm sure Peter wouldn't mind."

George snorts. "Yeah he would."

"Well." Jim shrugs. "It's still your decision. But you have to remember that your still young and you have your whole life ahead of you. There's plenty of time to experience the complications of love."

George goes scarlet and it's utterly adorable. "I didn't say it was love!" he protests, voice cracking.

"Wow. Firstly, clearly you're going through puberty. And secondly, I know you didn't. I was just saying," Jim clarifies.

George eventually calms down.

"Are you hungry?"

"No."

"Well we can still enjoy some hot cocoa." Jim gestures for him to follow her to the kitchen. She makes him a cup of hot cocoa while she just mixes herself a cup of chocolate milk.

They spend the rest of the morning talking about endless subjects until the kitchen begins to fill up with the rest of the residents of the house. Olsen volunteers to make breakfast while he chats animatedly with Jenna, who looks absolutely thrilled to see him.

Sylvia does her best to keep up with the older girls, who in turn, treat her like a little princess.

Jim finds it overtly amusing.

Hannah waddles up to her and stares until Jim can't resist the urge to pick her up and kiss her chubby cheeks. She's very quiet, and she doesn't speak much, but when Jim spies the orange hearing aid she has in her right ear, she begins to understand why. Luckily, Jim knows American Sign Language, and so she signs a few words at her baby sister, who smiles and makes a dulled sound as she signs back.

Winona watches her from across the kitchen with an indecipherable expression, but Jim pretends not to notice.

Jim puts Hannah down just as Olsen announces that breakfast is ready, and the little redhead waddles over to her mother, who smiles before scrunching her face as she signs '_Hungry?_'.

Hannah balls her right fist, nodding it in a '_Yes_'.

Winona smiles softly as she signs, '_Okay, let's go eat'._

Jim is lingering in the doorway with her plate of food when Spock appears behind her, looking around the room with delicate curiosity. She looks up at him from over her shoulder and smiles. "Good morning," she greets.

"Indeed, as it would appear to be," Spock notes distractedly as his dark eyes flicker from person to person.

"Hello there," Olsen greets from across the kitchen, waving a large hand. "I'm Dr. Olsen Cunningham. That's my wife, Winona," he introduces, and he gives this wide goofy smile like he's proud of the fact. "We have kids. We made that one. We decided to call him George and keep him. That one, Sylvia, we're stilling deciding what to do with her. And Hannah—whom we like best," he jokes as everyone laughs.

Jim snorts and shakes her head and takes a bite of her biscuit.

Spock quirks an eyebrow. "It is nice to meet you all. I am Spock."

"He's a Vulcan," Grace whispers (exclaims). "He's Jim's boyfriend."

Winona looks mildly surprised and curious.

Olsen just looks impressed and happy for them, shooting Jim a covert thumbs-up that's not really covert at all.

Sylvia and Hannah look as if they could care less about anything that isn't on their plates.

George, however, who is standing between Jenna and Olsen on the other side of the kitchen, frowns disapprovingly as he flicks his gaze between Jim and Spock.

Jim raises an eyebrow at him. _What?_

George just narrows his eyes and shakes his head before looking away.

"Would you like me to make you a plate? I promise it's all-organic and it correlates at least thirty-two point six percent with the Vulcan diet," Olsen promises. "How do I know this? Well along with being a chemical biologist with a specialized focus in anatomy, I also happen to have a degree in xenobiology, which certifies me as an expert dietician."

They wouldn't know it, but Spock is impressed.

Jim does, only because she is slowly becoming an expert at reading his indecipherably aloof expressions. She watches as Spock strides over to stove beside Olsen, studying the food with concealed interest as he picks and chooses which dishes he wants to partake of.

While Jim is dumping her empty plate, Jenna slides up to her and says, "I think we should go into the dining room and discuss the itinerary for my father's funeral."

Jim nods and follows her out of the kitchen.

Jenna grabs a notebook and she sits at the head of the table while Jim sits to her left. "Do you have pen?" she asks.

"I do," Winona says, inserting herself into the conversation as she sits across from Jim to Jenna's right. She fishes through her purse and presents Jenna with one.

Jenna smiles. "Thanks, Aunt Winona."

"No problem," Winona replies as she flicks her gaze over to Jim, who just stares back with an annoyed expression. "So what are you two up to?"

"Minding our business," Jim mutters.

Winona huffs and grins cynically. "Charming. Really."

Jim tosses her a quick and sharp sarcastic smile.

Jenna frowns at Jim, as if _she's _the problem, before she replies, "We were about to discuss my dad's itinerary for the funeral."

"Oh, well, I'd be more than happy to offer my input," Winona decides as she laces her fingers over the table. "That is, if it's okay with Jim."

Jim smiles angrily as she looks up at the ceiling and shakes her head. "Whatever," she mutters.

Jenna's frown deepens. "Okay," she drawls as she flicks her gaze between them. "Well I was thinking we could have the wake on Monday," she says as she scribbles it down. "And that's going to fall on the twenty-fourth." She pauses with a frown.

"Christmas Eve," Jim replies, saying what she's thinking. "The day before Christmas."

"That's not going to work," Winona decides. "We'd have to do the wake on Sunday, so that we could have the actual funeral that Monday."

Jim crosses her arms and her legs. "I don't see why it would matter that we'd have the funeral on Christmas—"

"No, Jim, she's right," Jenna interjects softly.

"No, Jenna, it's really not," Jim insists as she glares at Winona. "That's your father so _you_ get to decide when his funeral's going to be."

Winona smiles thinly. "You want to know why that's a bad idea? I'll give you two." She leans forward and continues, "Firstly, we have a number of younger kids in our family. It wouldn't be fair, especially when its almost a _given _that they won't really understand what's going on. They'll just know that it's Christmas, and instead of sharing smiles and laughs with their family, they're in all black while everyone cries over everyone else. And _two_—my father's birthday, your grandfather, the man you were named after, is on the 25th of December. I'll be damned if I make him sit through his son's, my _brother's_, funeral on his birthday. But wait. You know what? It doesn't matter right? I'm the bad guy here. So please, Jim. Go ahead. If you have any other options available, I'm all ears."

Jim stares at Winona before she lowers her gaze in guilt and anger.

"That's what I thought," Winona says. "Wake's Sunday. Funeral's Monday. I'll call everyone and let them know so they can get here on time." Her chair scrapes against the floor as she gets up and leaves without another word.

Jenna and Jim are left in a heavy silence.

Jim sucks in her bottom lip as she lifts her gaze to the ceiling and shakes her head.

"You didn't know," Jenna says, cupping a comforting hand over Jim's in her lap. "It's—you just didn't know. And I'm sure she knew that too, but like us, she's grieving. She's looking for a way to vent."

Jim laughs bitterly as she brushes Jenna's hand away and stands. "And I'm the perfect target right?"

"That's not fair. You were attacking her just as much as she was with you," Jenna contends.

"Oh right," Jim snaps. "Even though she's wrong, it's still somehow my fault too."

"I didn't—" Jenna grabs her wrist as she tries to leave. "Jim! I didn't say that."

Jim yanks her wrist away and glares at her cousin. "You didn't fucking have to, Jenna." She shakes her head. "You don't have to."

Jenna just stands there, staring at her with a miserable expression.

"I'm going to figure out who can cater the wake and the funeral. I'll let you know what I find," Jim mutters as she walks away. She goes up the stairs and to her old room, resisting the urge to slam the door shut behind her. She pauses before she turns and walks down the hall to Jenna's room, fishing for her purse and the cigarettes. It's petty revenge, but she takes the whole carton and the liter and goes back to her old room. She closes the door before grabbing her communicator, her coat, her hat, scarf, and gloves. She lifts the window and slides through, moving to the far left, climbing up and sitting down at her childhood hangout spot.

Jim exhales as her breath becomes visible against the cold air. It's still snowing but not as heavily as it was before—just light flakes. She spends a long moment just sitting there, letting the cold seep into her bones and numbing her until she can't feel anything.

She then pulls up a directory page and compares the quality of the local catering companies. There's only six that work through the holidays, and of the six, there are only two that caters to funeral ceremonies. She chooses the one that is the closest and saves the other for an emergency. She looks their menu over before she contacts the caterer and gives exact specifications to what she needs and what its for. She gets the total and pays for it all then and there, asking for the name of who is in charge (Anita), just in case anything goes wrong with the order or the delivery.

Sometime later, she's lying on her back, staring up at the endless grey sky as she puffs away at her third cigarette and catches snowflakes with her tongue.

"That's bad for you, you know," a voice says.

Jim cocks her head to the ledge to see George climbing onto the roof with her in his red coat, black hat, gloves, and scarf. She just grunts unintelligibly before she turns her gaze back to he sky.

George settles down beside her, pressing their shoulders close as they silently look up at the sky. Eventually, he says, "I didn't know you smoked."

"I don't."

"There's a cigarette in your hand right now."

"Desperate times call for desperate measures."

George snorts. He says, "Do you always smoke?"

"Not really. I mean, off and on in high school. I quit once I enlisted with Starfleet. But then again, I always caved when I had a particularly stressful midterm. I even went through four cartons the first time I failed the Kobayashi Maru simulation, which in turn made me hurl for the next forty-five minutes. Wasn't my proudest day."

George makes an agreeing sound.

"Don't worry. I'm not picking up the habit again. I just—things are hard for me right now. I need something to distract me."

George makes a thoughtful sound.

Jim sighs a bit forlornly as she stares up at the cloudy sky. She's beginning to long for the stars, beginning to get homesick for her ship.

"Can I say something?"

"Is it about your mother?"

George makes a face. "It's about _our _mother, yes."

Jim just hums as she flicks the bud of her cigarette off to the side.

"I know what you must think of her. She was wrong for leaving you behind. You don't know how much I wish—" He doesn't follow through with the rest of the sentence. He changes directions. "She's stubborn and prideful. But underneath that bravado, she's just as scared of being alone as anyone else."

Jim refuses to relate.

"I think as much as she wants to seem like she doesn't care about you, she really does. She always has," George says.

"So she's just putting on a façade? Why? To push me away or some ridiculous shit like that?" Jim questions with an angry frown.

"Yeah," George replies, and he sound so genuine. "I think so."

Jim scoffs and shakes her head. "Well, it'd be nice to believe that, but I don't think that's what it is. She hates me because I remind her of my dad. Because she'll never truly be over him as long as I'm around."

George turns his head and traces his blue eyes over the side of her face. "You'll come see us right? After all this is over? You'll visit when you can?" he asks.

Jim turns her head so that they're face to face and she smiles sadly. "Are you kidding? Your mother couldn't keep me away."

"You know she wouldn't try," George gently rebukes.

Jim snorts before she looks away. "I don't really know anything about anything. Winona is an utter mystery to me."

George doesn't say anything to that, neither agreeing nor disagreeing. Instead, he asks, "So you and that Vulcan…"

"Careful where that sentence leads, Georgie. I love you but," Jim starts and makes indecipherable gesture with her hand.

"But you love him just as much," George fills in.

Jim just blinks up at the sky and follows the snow.

"No, I get it. I do," George admits, a little apologetically. "I wasn't trying to—I mean, you're my sister. I want you to be with someone who deserves you. I heard things about Vulcans."

Jim just hums.

"He's good to you, right?"

"Yeah. More than I feel like I deserve."

"That's a weird thing to say. You deserve the very best and nothing less."

Jim smiles and elbows him and he elbows her back with equal affection.

George spends the next hour naming and describing their incoming family with colorful details.

Jim's never laughed so hard.

888

Sunday, December 23rd, finds Frank's—no, _Jenna's—_house filled to the brim with Emersons for Frank's wake.

Jim had no idea that there were so many people on this side of this family. And the crazy thing is that this isn't even _everybody_.

There are definite similarities in the Emerson clan. Besides the fact that a good portion of them are Deaf (Jim had learned this from George), they're also very confident. Practically everyone is good-looking, a tiny bit self-centered, blue-eyed with blonde hair, with the exception of those who don't inherit it, but they still somehow get the blue eyes. Everyone is average height—the women are of a slender build and remain as such for the duration of their lives while the men tend to fill out the closer they get to older age. And dear God are the Emersons a fertile bunch!

Jim can't even count on six hands how many cousins who run through the house and up the stairs, down the stairs, out the front and back door. Each family has at least a _minimum _of three kids. _Three_. From there the number only increases. And to add to the list of things Jim didn't know, apparently Winona is the youngest daughter of fucking _nine._

In order it goes:

Uncle Winslow: married to Aunt Girha (Orion) with ten kids—Zak, Gris, Ursua, Brik, Gre'e, Dobrar, L'ox, Wik, Arko, and YanUncle Vick: married to Aunt Charlotte with five kids—Robin, Bonnie, Jennet, Madeline, and Sebastian: married to Aunt Yun with six kids— Hyun Ki, Jung-Su, Eun Ae, Soo Min, Kyung, and JaeUncle Bradley: married to Aunt Desiree with four kids—Keisha, Kendra, Keanu, and KeandreFrank: divorced with three kids—Jeremy and Jane (twins/stillborns), and JennaAunt Graham: married to Uncle Fortinbras with eight kids—James, Kate, Kendall, Joe, Joshua, Kim, Kerri, JohnAunt Hadley: divorced with four kids—Noelle, Venus, Quest, XeniaUncle Tyson: married to Aunt Esmeralda with seven kids—Esmé, Yenny, Analía, Luca, Gerardo, Dión, and OctavioWinona: widowed/remarried to Olsen with four kids—James, George, Sylvia, and Hannah

And that's just the tip of the iceberg too. Most of her immediate cousins have kids of their own which only adds to their ever-growing brood. She thought Bones had a big family—this is almost suffocating.

Jim tries to put on her best game face with Spock at her side, but it gets intimidating. They are a nosy bunch. Apparently her 'celebrity status' is far reaching, and so all anyone ever wants to talk (or sign) about is her job, or Nero, or Kodos, or the impending war. If not that, then they want her to autograph this or that, or take a picture with her so they can brag about it later. She tries, okay? Really tries, but none of it goes the way she wants.

Spock stays close to her side, but eventually he is swept away by her younger kid cousins, who want to drill him with questions and find out the true extent of his knowledge. He's very patient the whole time, and tolerant of their energetic behavior.

It makes Jim smile, watching him like this—as though he's more used to her family than she is. The thought alone stills her anxieties, and adds to her confidence. She won't lie and say she isn't tempted to just whisk Spock away to a private corner and climb him like a tree. She's not sure what it is about watching him with her family that makes him even more attractive than he already is, but it does and he is.

Grandpa James arrives sometime in the afternoon with Uncle Sebastian and his family. The house is immediately in an excited uproar and finally, Jim is no longer the center of attention. Everyone crowds around Grandpa James and waits on him hand and foot as though he were his own kind of celebrity amongst the family. Jim supposes he is in a way. He's the head, as well as the source of the large Emerson brood.

Jim wants to approach him, introduce herself, sign a hello with her hands (since he's Deaf), do _something_, but she's too intimidated. She doesn't know what he'll think when he sees her. Will he be as disappointed in her as Winona is? Jim really isn't willing to find out, especially when Spock isn't at her side to support her. He's somehow earned some kind of title as the King of the Emerson kids and they've stolen him away to the third floor where they're doing only God knows what.

Jim doesn't mind. She thinks its sweet. Of course they would be as besotted with him as she is. They all share the same genes after all.

The day drives on and Jim is willing to admit that she looses a bit of her edge. She can't keep up the idle chitchat and pretend as though she's interested in hearing stories from the 'old days', days she has no part in.

She slides into the kitchen and eats what she can from the catering buffet. And when the kitchen becomes too crowded, she eases herself out the backdoor (grabbing Spock's trench coat along the way to throw on), through the porch patio and out into the openly frigid winter air. She basks in the cold, the space, the comfortable silence, and the opportunity to lower her guard (despite the bellowing laughter and conversation drifting from the house behind her).

Jim starts at the crunch of snow she hears coming from the side of the house, and when she goes to investigate, she finds Winona huddled up on the side of the house with a lit cigarette, wet cheeks and a red nose.

Winona spots her and sniffs as she quickly tries to dry her face.

"Sorry, um," Jim starts, feeling awkward and guilty at the same time. "I wasn't spying on you or anything."

Winona sniffs again as she takes a drag from her cigarette and shakes her head. "It's fine. I know you weren't," she says with a hoarse voice, most likely raw from weeping.

Jim feels so painfully uncomfortable. She's not sure if she should retreat and pretend she doesn't see her crying or stand there with her in awkward silence. But maybe Jim is really screwed in the head because for some reason she drifts over to Winona and stands beside her as they gaze into the never-ending fields of snow and the darkening grey sky.

"So," Winona drawls as she exhales smoke out the side of her mouth and away from Jim as a small courtesy. "Couldn't handle the crowd either?"

Jim shoves her hands into the pockets of Spock's trench coat before she shrugs.

Winona eyes her for a moment before she hums and looks away. "I used to think that I was adopted," she goes on to say, strangely nostalgic all of a sudden. "Because every time we did something like this, I just had to get away on my own for a while. I mean I could handle it for a few hours." She flicks the ash from her cigarette. "But then I'd get claustrophobic—drained. I'd just have to go off by myself before I lost it. But them, in there, they can keep this up for days and they wouldn't even get tired of it. I just don't have that capacity."

Jim kicks the heel of her ankle boot into the snow and watches for the indentions she leaves behind.

"Now when your father came along," Winona murmurs, ignoring the way Jim stiffens at the reference. "He just loved it. Loved every bit of it." She snorts and puffs at her cigarette. "He had a small family—well, small compared mine," she supposes as she licks at her bottom lip thoughtfully. "And my family took an immediate shining to him. He could charm the pants off of anyone." She doesn't smile, but she sounds like she wants to. "My brothers, all of them, are extremely hard to impress. Especially Frank." She nods quietly. "Frank was really my bodyguard when I started dated. He'd scare off every guy that looked at me wrong. But George came along and it was over." Her voice gets kind of shaky as she sniffs and looks up at the sky, taking a long and desperate drag of her withering cigarette. "Frank's the one that told me to marry him."

Jim exhales as quietly as she can as her hands ball into fists inside Spock's coat pockets.

"You know we got married young, and we tried for kids right away," Winona continues as she rubs her thumb along the seam of her bottom lip. "We were going to have a big family," she says, choking on a sob. She lowers her head into her head and sniffs. "But I could never carry to term. But I was determined, and your father, he—" She pauses to takes a steadying breath. "He wanted kids so bad. I never told him that I didn't really—that I wasn't ready. I think maybe God was punishing me because he knew I didn't want kids yet. But then I got pregnant with you and it felt right." She sniffs. "It felt right."

Jim looks away as tears begin build up at the corners of her eyes.

"I swore I would keep you with me forever. I swore I would treat you right, and love you, if you could just make it. Because I knew you were mine. Everything I was—I felt that pour into you as you grew inside me," Winona confesses. She takes another shaky puff of her cigarette. "But it didn't last." She exhales a stream of smoke. "Your dad died, and any common sense I had, died with him."

Jim presses her lips together tightly as something breaks inside of her.

Winona flicks her cigarette bud off into the snow as she steps into Jim's line of sight. "Frank tried to tell me a million times after you were born that I would regret leaving you behind for the rest of my life," she says quietly and patiently catches Jim's shifting eyes when she can.

Jim shakes her head and tries to back up.

"Him and I were so close and I respected everything he said to me. But I couldn't handle that," Winona admits. "Because he was right and I hated him for it. I was young and stupid and immature and selfish. I was suffering from postpartum depression, on top of my grieving with your father. I should have never—"

"_Don't,_" Jim chokes desperately as she shakes her head and trembles. "Don't you fucking dare," she begs as she presses herself against the house as Winona slides closer with red eyes and a broken expression.

"I should have never left you behind," Winona states fiercely. "And every day I spent apart from you was agonizing torture. Every day I didn't call, or write, or tell you that I love you, or been there for you when you needed me to, is the worst thing I could have done. And I knew that I could never face you or face the things that I'd done—"

"Winona, please stop," Jim pleads as she sobs into her hands.

"I abandoned you, Jim," Winona says and shakes her head as tears spills down her cheeks. "And after I learned that I almost lost you to Nero—I just couldn't—I _couldn't _live with myself anymore. So I came to you with every intention of making you hate me as much as I hate myself. I hate myself _so _much, Jim. I know your father would hate me too if he was still alive."

Jim hides her face in her hands as she cries and slides down the side of the house to the ground as Winona follows her down.

"I lied when I told you I didn't want forgiveness, and that I wasn't sorry," Winona says and gently pries Jim's hands from her red face. "Hey, look at me."

Jim gasps out a sob as she shakes her head and looks at Winona with glassy eyes.

"I am sorry. I am _so _sorry. I am sorry. I am sorry," Winona chants and she pulls Jim close.

Jim tries to fight her off, pushing her, hitting her, but Winona just accepts the blows, stubbornly pulling her in for a hug.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm a goddam piece of shit excuse for a mother," Winona whispers as Jim clutches at her desperately and sobs into her chest. "I am so sorry. I should have said this a long time ago. Please don't hate me. Please," she begs as she cries too. "I don't want to die and have my daughter, who I am _so very fucking _proud of, hate me." Her voice shakes. "I want to be there when you get married. I want to be there when you have your first child. I want to _be there_."

"_Fuck you, okay? You can't just—you don't just get to do this,_" Jim weeps into her chest and she beats her fists into Winona's shoulders.

Winona just shushes her and rocks her gently as she pets her hair while she whispers a stream of apologies against her hairline.

Jim coughs and sobs and gasps and cries until she feels like she might pass out. She wants so much to choke Winona, to hurt her so that she can feel a fraction of what she's put her through. But all the fight she has in her leaves as Winona clutches her close and tells her its okay and that she's so very sorry and that she'll never leave her ever again.

Jim can't say how long this goes on for.

Maybe days.

Maybe months

Maybe years.

Eventually they stand to their feet and fix their faces.

Jim brushes off all the snow on her with hiccupping sighs. It takes her a moment, but she says, "It's going to take some time. I can't just—"

"I know," Winona says with a sad smile. "Hey, look at me."

Jim does.

"I _know_. And I don't care. However long it takes, I don't care. I can wait forever if I have to," Winona swears. "One day, we'll get there. I know we will."

Jim swallows dryly. Her throat feels painfully raw. "Can I ask you why? After all this time. Why now?"

Winona folds her arms and sighs. "Jim, I just lost my brother. And because of my stupid pride and stubbornness, we never reconciled. I don't want the same to be said of us. I'm just so very tired of pretending like I could care less when all I can do is care and regret and mourn."

Jim swallows again as she shoves her hands into the pockets of Spock's trench coat. She says, "This is not going to be an easy fix," she warns. "It's really going to take some time. And maybe even a shitload of therapy sessions."

Winona huffs out a laugh as though it's been stunned from her body. "Yeah, I know. But I think we made just a little bit of progress tonight," she considers.

"Tiny," Jim carefully corrects. "Minuscule."

Winona nods self-deprecatingly.

A blanket of comfortable silence falls between them.

"I should head back inside," Jim says as she starts backing up. "Probably find Spock and make sure he's still in one piece."

Winona hums thoughtfully as she watches her retreat. "I like him," she admits. "He's good for you."

Jim pauses and tries to work out how she feels about Winona's blatant approval of her boyfriend. Eventually says, "He makes me happy. That's kind of more than I can say about most people."

Winona rubs the back of her hand against the bottom lip as she looks down. "I'm glad. You deserve that."

"Yeah," Jim agrees. "I'm starting to realize that too." She turns and heads back into the house. When she finds Spock, he's sitting inside some kind of makeshift fort that the kids have thrown together in one of the rooms. She crawls up to him and leans her weight into his side as he immediately tucks her under his arm, probably sensing all the emotional turmoil raging a storm on the inside.

Jim falls asleep embarrassingly fast under his watchfully concerned gaze.

Later on, Jim's not sure when, Spock moves her to her old room, and when she wakes, he's right beside her, dark eyes peering at her curiously.

"Hey," she rasps, voice terribly hoarse and throat still painfully sore. She barely sits up before he's shoving a water bottle into her hands, which she gratefully drains. "What time is it?"

"A little after two a.m.," Spock reports as he continues to watch her with an intensely probing gaze.

"Is everybody gone?" Jim rasps.

"For the moment," Spock replies evenly. "How do you feel?"

Jim falls back against her zebra-print pillows as she hands him her empty bottle. "Exhausted—confused. I feel empty. Like I cried out my soul."

"I have come to understand that crying does have the undeniable effect of making one feel as if they are lighter than they initially were. Perhaps a weight has been lifted," Spock suggests in that intriguing intellectual tone of his. "I am curious to know the cause, or if pertinent, the source of your distress."

Jim smiles softly as she throws an arm over her face, hiding her eyes in the crook of her arm. "My mother apologized," she admits, still reveling in the fact.

"Curious," Spock murmurs.

Jim snorts. "Tell me about it. I'm still having a hard time adjusting to the fact that it happened."

"That is not what amazes me," Spock clarifies. "It is the fact that you have begun to refer to her as your mother, rather than her forename."

Jim stiffens and she quickly goes back over their conversation, only to realize that—_fucking shit—_she did refer to Winona as her mother. "That's bad right?" she grumbles.

"Not necessarily," Spock delicately assures.

Jim groans. "No, but it is. It means I'm too fucking easy. She can say sorry for a lifetime of trauma and already I'm playing into the adoring daughter," she complains.

"Jim, you are overanalyzing," Spock notes.

"That's hilarious coming from you."

Spock squeezes her thigh with precise pressure and she jerks into it, feeling a bubble of laughter rumble through her chest. "You are behaving petulantly," he murmurs as he lies down beside her.

Jim just grumbles as she drops her arm to her side and brushes her fingers against his while she stares up at the ceiling.

"I gather the reestablishment of your bond with your mother will take some time," Spock reasons, sliding his arm under her and curling her body into his. He tucks her hair behind her ears, and Jim realizes the sneaky Vulcan must have undone her braids while she slept. "Is this something you wish to pursue?"

"I don't know," Jim groans as she hides her face into the side of his warm neck. "Please don't ask me that now. Ask me in like—ten years."

"Very well," Spock says, agreeably enough.

Jim sighs as she shifts her legs and tangles them with his as she closes her eyes. "Two more days," she mutters against his warm skin. "Two more days and we get to go back to San Francisco and be with _our _family."

"Indeed," Spock concurs. He sounds just a bit keen at the prospect.

Jim's mouth curls into a smile and a flock of butterflies float around her stomach as she says, "Nyota and Scotty are getting married. _Married_," she whispers fiercely, unable to contain her excitement. "And I'm going to marry them."

"Does it make you anxious?"

"Oh absolutely, but I've done it once before so I'm not too worried," Jim promises with another sigh. She closes her eyes as she curls one hand between their bodies while the other wiggles under his back, spreading out over the space where she knows his heart is. She lets the quick pace lull her back into sleep.

Spock murmurs a Vulcan proverb into her hair, but she's too far gone to interpret it.

888

Jim wakes up on the day of Frank's funeral with black storm clouds in her head. She climbs out of bed, two hours earlier than she needs to. She does it just so she can stand under the hot jets of the shower for a good hour.

By the time she climbs out, she's red all over. She goes back in the room, expecting to see Spock still sprawled across the bed, but he's not.

Instead, there is a tray with a freshly glazed cinnamon bun and a glass of milk waiting for her. She smiles and drops her towel to the floor, strolling over to the bed with every intention of defiling that cinnamon bun. After she washes her fingers of the stick glaze (as well as around her lips), she puts on a black vintage lace swing dress with black nylon tights and black pumps.

In the bathroom again, she wipes the steam off of the mirror so she is able to watch herself blow-dry her hair. She can't help but to notice that her dyed lock of hair is fading into a pale blue and eventually, because she did use a temporary dye, it will fade back to her normal hair color.

Just as she clips up her hair with the intention of flat-ironing it (section by section), Spock returns to the room in black two piece suit with a crisp button down shirt and a black tie. She says, "Oh my God. You look amazing in a suit."

Spock's lip twitches as he seats himself on the edge of the bed to watch her.

Jim watches him through the mirror with a grin. "Come on, Spock. We talked about this," she remarks. "I give you a compliment and then you tell me just how gorgeous I am."

"I would, were it not such an unfair challenge," Spock smoothly replies. "I have yet to encounter a word that properly describes how aesthetically pleasing you are."

Jim flushes and almost burns her ear in the process. "Now that right there was more than an adequate compliment," she applauds. She sobers as she goes on to say, "So the plan is to meet at the cemetery where Frank's headstone was plotted. Then everyone's coming back here for food." She sighs as she finishes with the last piece of hair before she straightens her bangs. "I would say that you and I can just hit the road after we've eaten and said our goodbyes. But apparently the family wants to throw my grandfather a proper birthday bash tomorrow."

"You have no desire to attend?"

Jim catches his eye through the mirror and shrugs. "I don't know. Honestly it's starting to get to be a little too much. No one is ever meant to experience their family all at once like this. It's kind of wearing me down."

Spock says nothing to that, but he seems as though he understands.

Jim spends the next moment slicking her hair back into a mid-ponytail, and then twisting her hair into a bun. She puts on some eyeliner, mascara, and red lipstick. She makes a face and shifts as her pumps squeeze her toes uncomfortably while she paints her fingernails red. Blowing on the nails of her right hand, she slides over to Spock and uses the fingers of her left hand to caress his chin where she feels the pleasant scratch of stubble.

"You should grow a beard. I bet you'd look hot, and badass," Jim quips as she kisses the corner of his mouth before using her thumb to rub away the lipstick.

"I will take that under consideration," Spock murmurs, watching her with those probing dark eyes of his. He seems vaguely amused.

Jim hums thoughtfully as she strokes her fingers along his pointed ears before sighing. "Okay. Let's get this over with," she mutters and steps back so he has space to stand.

Spock's hand presses to her lower back with a firm yet reassuring touch.

Jim is grateful. She inhales and exhales, trying to shake off her growing anxiety.

Together they make their way to the foyer, where Jenna, her kids, and Winona, Olsen, and her siblings already are (dressed in black funeral attire as well).

"Okay, so how are we going to do this?" Jenna asks.

"I have space in my car for one more person," Winona replies.

Jim counts heads before she says, "Jenna, I can take your kids with me and you can just go with them."

Jenna nods before she turns and fusses at her children to bundle up because it's way to cold outside to not wear a hat or gloves, for the love of _God, _Hayley, put that hat on or so help me.

Jim smiles in amusement before she wraps her own scarf around herself and put on her gloves.

"Alright people, let's get a move on before we're late," Olsen warns, already hoarding Winona and their children out the front door.

Jenna follows them shortly.

Jim gestures for Gwen, Grace, Hayley, and Jonah to come with her and Spock. They all pile in their cars and Jim takes the lead on the road, with Olsen trailing her.

Twenty-five minutes later, they reach Riverside's St. Vincent's Cemetery. They pull up the drive and attempt to find a parking spot amongst the jungle of cars.

Jim and her bunch climb out and she frowns as she sees how close everyone's car is. _If I see a scratch on my car—some one is paying for it_, she thinks.

Spock comes to her side and lifts a questioning brow at her deepening frown. He doesn't actually ask her what's wrong. He just presses that reassuring hot hand of his on her lower back and urges her to the large tent that's spread out over where Frank's headstone is plotted.

Together they enter through the open tent flaps and follow Winona and Jenna up the main aisle sandwiched between rows and rows of vanilla-colored foldout chairs. At the very front of the tent is a glass podium with an etching of a dove on the very middle of its front. Beside it is a large portrait of Frank in black and white with a flower arrangement sitting around it, as well as lit candles.

Jenna stops and turns to them to say, "Hey, I hate to separate you two, but the first two rows are strictly for family. And I was hoping you could sit beside me, Jim. Spock can sit across the way with Olsen and all the other in-laws."

Jim feels a twinge of annoyance at that but she swallows down the feeling with a conceding nod. "Just give us a moment," she asks.

Jenna nods quickly and moves to sit in the front row beside Winona, who is sitting beside Grandpa James, with the rest of the sibling flocking to his left to fill up the other chairs.

Jim exhales and closes her eyes, swallowing and trying to steady herself.

Spock places his hands on her upper arms as he leans in close to whisper in her right ear, "Jim, you are strong. Please remember this. I will be here."

Jim nods quietly and stops fighting the urge to hug him. She pulls away before she is tempted to stay in his arms and goes to take her seat beside Jenna. Her seat is at the very end, right beside the main aisle. She watches as Spock approaches Olsen, and after an exchange of words, Olsen compliantly stands and moves down a seat so that Spock can sit at the end beside the main aisle as well.

Spock meets her eye and inclines his head.

Jim smiles softly as she crosses her legs and folds her hands in her lap. She shifts her gaze away as her shoulders relax and she watches her Aunt Yun, along with her Uncle Sebastian, approach the podium.

Uncle Sebastian stands off to the side and waves his hand to get everyone's attention before he signs, '_Please tap your neighbor_.'

Aunt Yun picks up the wireless microphone and, as Uncle Sebastian interprets, says, "Can I have everyone's attention, please?"

A sudden hush and stillness passes through the place.

"We're going to go ahead and proceed with the ceremony," Aunt Yun continues. "Today we're gathered today to not only mourn but celebrate the life of our Franklin." She pauses and meets the eye of everyone. "He was known to each one of us in many different ways. And if you never got the chance to, I'm sure anyone in our large family can tell you a thing or two about who he was."

Uncle Sebastian echoes her words with his hands.

"I first encountered Franklin with the rest of the family. Sebastian and I, in the early days of our dating through college, came to the decision that we would introduce each other to our families. So I went first, I brought him back home with me during winter—I'm originally from North Korea—and he met my parents and my older brothers, whom like most of Sebastian's siblings, were Deaf. My parents were Deaf, and Sebastian could relate to that as well, so it was actually easier for him to get along with everyone than I imagined because we had that in common—we shared Deaf culture."

Uncle Sebastian echoes her words with his hands.

Aunt Yun waits before she begins again, "He met my family and that was that. Complete success." She goes on to say, "There was a dinner—just a normal family get together that they always did every Sunday as Sebastian would come to explain. And I was nervous, because I wasn't quite sure about how they would react to seeing Sebastian bring home this Korean girl with broken English. And I have to tell you that I really was subconscious about that, that even though Sebastian and I didn't need to, we still signed to each other because he was fluent in both Korean and American Sign. But my English, as well as my American sign, left a lot to be desired."

Everyone laughs.

Uncle Sebastian echoes her words with his hands and there is more laughter.

Aunt Yun smiles ruefully as she goes on to say, "We got to that cozy Ranch in Fayetteville, Arkansas, and we came up the drive. At this point I was ready to throw up, I was so nervous. But as it turns out, James and Kate, or dad and mom as I've grown used to calling them, were not even there yet. They had gone to the store to pick up the groceries for dinner." She pauses before she begins again, "The first Emerson, outside of Sebastian, that I met that evening was Franklin. He was still in his football uniform, just a sweating mess and he looked over at me as we climbed out of the car, and he ran right up to me, crying 'Sister!', and he wrapped his arms around me and spun me around."

Jim shifts in her seat as she lowers her gaze and tries to imagine it.

"Well you can imagine my surprise. I grew very red and I was at a loss for words. Sebastian hadn't even mentioned that he was bringing someone home with him, and for all Franklin knew, I could have just been a friend. But somehow he knew, by just one look at me, who I was and how I was feeling. He took me under his arm and he showed me around, and he was so very patient with me as I talked with him in my simple little broken English." Aunt Yun pauses as she exhales shakily. She opens her mouth to continue but no words come out. She swallows and chokes out, "I'm sorry."

"Take your time!"

"It's okay!"

Aunt Yun smiles sadly and nods as tears spill over her pale cheeks.

Jenna quickly approaches her with some tissue and rubs her back in encouragement before returning to her seat.

Aunt Yun takes a deep breath and continues, shakily, "He could not know how much that meant to me. And ever since, he's always held a special place in my heart—even through the harder years that were to come." She pauses to swallow. "I just wanted to say that he meant a lot to me, and the man that I met that day is the man I will always hold love and respect for. Thank you."

Everyone claps softly as Aunt Yun returns to her seat.

Uncle Sebastian takes her place behind the podium as his son, Jung-Su, stands in as interpreter. "As we proceed with the ceremony, I would like for everyone to just think on my brother kindly, and if you have anything you would like to say, or a memory you wish to share, the floor will be open after we've delved through the scheduled itinerary." He looks around the room. "As of now, we're going to hand out the pamphlets, which outlines the order of service."

The younger members of the family walk up and down the main aisle, handing out the pamphlets and smiling kindly.

Jim skims through, noting all the pictures, the biography, and the outline of the ceremony.

Uncle Sebastian gestures to Jenna to join him as he announces, "We're going to have Frank's daughter, Jenna, do a eulogy, after which, she's decided to sing."

Jenna stands and joins him behind the podium.

Jim listens carefully as Jenna speaks, and shifts in her seat as her heart twinges with incomprehensible sadness. She looks over to Spock, who meets her eye when he feels her gaze. She sees the question in his eyes but she nods in reassurance before she turns her focus back to Jenna.

Jenna finishes on a shaky note, and everyone claps softly. She goes on to say, "I've decided to sing my dad's favorite song, with the help of my not so little cousin, George. Aunt Yun will accommodate us with the aid of her violin."

Jim watches with interest as her brother, George, approaches Jenna, as Aunt Yun stands beside her son, who is still interpreting.

Jenna hands George an extra microphone before she nods to Aunt Yun.

Jim's eyebrows lift in utter awe as Jenna opens her mouth to sing. She recognizes the song immediately. It's 'When You Believe' by Whitney Houston and Mariah Carey. She fights down an answering laugh of disbelief. She'd never thought, in a billion years, that this kind of song would be a favorite of Frank. But as she listens to the lyrics, she begins to understand.

_Wonders never fucking cease, _Jim thinks. But her jaw really drops when George opens his mouth to sing. That boy can fucking _sing_—like _really _sing. She can hardly believe what she's hearing.

Jenna and George, together, hold a gorgeous key that pushes everyone to their feet with commending claps and voices.

Jim stands too and cheers as well, holding up her thumbs at George, who goes slightly pink at the attention of his family.

Jenna gives a little bow before holding her hands to Aunt Yun, so that she can get some recognition too.

George goes back to his seat, high-fiving Jim along the way when she holds up her hand for him.

Jenna returns to her seat beside Jim, smiling when Jim quickly urges her to get a record deal because obviously singing is her true calling.

The order of service goes accordingly, and at the end, Uncle Sebastian opens the floor up for anyone that wanted to speak.

This leads to several awkward speeches, a few heartfelt moments, a couple of hilarious memories, and a confusingly long poem about pumpkins.

Grandpa James, with the aid of his eldest children, approaches the podium. He signs to Uncle Sebastian, and Uncle Sebastian verbally interprets, "I want to thank everyone for their kind words. For coming here and showing support at this difficult time. Not too long ago, my wife was lost to me, and the only reason I recovered is because I reminded myself that we spent most of our lives building a beautiful family together. And we have. Just look around. You are our legacy. You are more than we could have ever dreamed that simple day sixty years ago as we marched beside each other to petition our rights as Deaf people. You young people may not even know or are aware that back then, there was speculation on a new surgery, which had the ability of returning or giving a Deaf person's hearing back to them by way of a device. What was worrisome about it is that we felt it would be forced on us. Most of us didn't want that. We loved who we were. We were proud to be Deaf. So we took a stand, and I remember marching and looking over to see the loveliest woman I'd ever seen. She was red in the face from shouting, not actual words, as I understand it, but just making noise. I asked her for coffee and nine kids later and over many, many grandkids, and great grandkids later, here we are. Here I am.

"I'm also somewhat glad that Kate isn't here. I know that the death of our son would have hit her the hardest. Out of the two of us, she is the strictest, and most willful, but anyone who knows, will tell you that when that woman loved, she _loved_. And I am sad, of course. When I lose my family, I lose a part of myself. But as I look around the room at all of you, I am encouraged and filled with joy again. My boy, Frank—he's gone now. But he gave us Jenna, who's given us Gwen, and Hayley, and Grace, and little Jonah. And I'm confident that his legacy will continue with them. Because through them, Frank is not really lost. I know that you all will help me in keeping the good memories of him alive. He spent some time in the deep end, I know, sadly. But I never stopped loving and praying for him. I was so glad when he reached out to us last year, even with the circumstances being less than ideal, and apologized to me and my wife and reconciled with us. I know that, second to me, on the day of Kate's funeral, he was really heartbroken. He was really close with her, and if he ever accepted a kick in the ass, it was from her. But again, I want you all to stay encouraged. Death is about mourning, but it is also supposed remind us of how precious life is and the people we have in it."

Grandpa James looks directly at Jim, and signs as Uncle Sebastian speaks, "I want to thank you especially, Jim. I know that this has not been easy for you. Frank has spoken to us about you and it has been with nothing but pride and love, as well as regret. I must admit that I share in that regret too. I wish I would have known sooner that you have been with him this whole time, or for the better part of your early life. I would have reached out and Kate and I would have opened our home to you as Frank dealt with his demons. But, like his sister, Winona, he never said anything—he let his pride get in the way, and ultimately that selfishness cost you the most. But I want to say here and now, that as a family, we support you, we love you, and we are here for you. We invite you to claim us as we claim you, and we want to be a part of your life, because it's never too late."

Jim sniffs as her eyes grow hot with her tears, bottom lip trembling.

Jenna pushes some tissue in her shaking hands as she rubs her other hand up and down Jim's back.

"Your surname may be Kirk, and that is fine. But you're also an Emerson," Uncle Sebastian continues just as Grandpa James continues. "Jim—don't you gallivant about this universe as an orphan. You will always have a place with us, if you should ever need it. And I want you to learn from Frank's mistakes and even Winona's mistakes. When it comes time for you to build a family, you let them know where they came from and you make sure that their family is just as involved in their lives as you'll be involved in their lives. Understood?"

Jim sniffs and nods quietly as gobs and gobs of tears run down her flushed cheeks, ruining her mascara.

"I mean that. I expect to see you whenever you find yourself right back on this Earth. I'll try my best to not follow your grandmother to the grave before I get to know you or any children you have. I love you. Know that," Uncle Sebastian interprets, as Grandpa James nods to him with a smile before he makes his way over to Jim.

Jim quickly stands and sobs a little when he wraps his arms around her in a loving embrace. The weight of it is intensified when she feels more bodies press all around her. It takes her a second to make out the figures through the blurry sheen of her tears and runny mascara. It's all her Uncles and Aunts.

She's not too embarrassed to say that she cried for quite a while under that blanket of familial hugs.

Jim finds Spock when they separate and she leans into his side with a shaky sigh.

Grandpa James walk up to them, and he signs, '_Who is this?_'

Jim moves to reply, but Spock is already fingerspelling with his pale fingers, '_Spock_.'

'_Spock?_' Grandpa James echo with an impressed frown. '_Nice to meet you._'

'_Same._' Spock replies.

'_You seem good for her. I'm glad_,' Grandpa James signs with a smiling nod. '_Take care of her. Make her happy forever._'

Jim blushes and hides her pleased grin behind the back of her hand.

Spock inclines his head and Grandpa James seems satisfied. He pats Spock on his shoulder affectionately before wandering off. Spock doesn't appear to be bothered by the physical touch, and maybe it's because he's either used to how affectionate Jim's family is or is familiar with how touchy Deaf people can generally be.

Either way, Jim is impressed with his perceptive lenience. And when she says as much, he merely leans forward and presses a hot kiss to her cheek, which doesn't fail to make her glow pink with joy.

Jenna chooses this moment to herd them out of the tent (Frank's portrait under her arm) and says, "Everyone's heading back to the house now. I'll grab the kids so they can get in the car with you."

Jim nods and pulls Spock along with her to the car. They climb in and she starts it, taking a moment to appreciate the thick snowfall. It's been a long time since she's seen snow, and there is a part of her that misses it.

Gwen, Grace, Hayley, and Jonah climb in the car with a content sigh (Jim has the heat on high). On the way back to the house, they decide to sing classic Disney songs such as 'Over the Rainbow', 'Bare Necessities', and 'Under the Sea' (accent and all).

Jim doesn't mind it. They sound just as good as their mother does singing. Seems they've inherited that.

The night is spent navigating in a house crammed to the brim with Emersons, and for once, Jim doesn't feel out of place.

Spock and George stay by her side for the duration of the day, and she rewards their company by eating off their plates with a shameless grin. She doesn't waste time wondering why it's so easy to smile and laugh and relax.

She does, however, avoid Winona as much as she can.

Because not everything is so easily fixed.

* * *

**Author's Note: **_This is way longer than I intended. But um, I'm surprised I even got this done. I've been battling my depression. Now all I need you guys to do is tell me what you think so I can keep it up. Questions, comments, concerns?_


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Three**

Christmas morning finds Jim and Spock hauling their luggage in the backseat of her cherry red car.

Jenna (as well as Gwen and Hayley and George) practically begs them to stay longer.

Jim just shakes her head with a fond smile and promises that she'll see them again, as soon as she can. Besides, Grandpa James had given them their blessing to leave, and Jim, not as much as a social butterfly as she would have you to believe, gratefully accepted the gentle dismissal.

Spock says goodbye to her family in his own Vulcan way. Hands up, middle fingers spread, thumb arched out—the kids attempt their best to return the gesture, and Spock patiently talks them through it until they meet some kind of success.

Meanwhile, Olsen gives Jim a tight hug and yammers on and on about how happy he is to finally meet his stepdaughter and how he is going to brag so much to his colleagues about her like he does with the rest of his children.

Winona is more quiet and reserved in her goodbye. She holds out a hand and Jim shakes it as they eye each other with hesitantly forced smiles.

It's only marginally awkward.

Jim does, however, concede to keeping in touch with her (calling her, messaging her—if not every other week than at least once a month). She can work with that. They both can.

The last thing she does before she follows Spock into her car is drop kisses on George, Sylvia, and Hannah's cheek with a whisper of love and a promise to keep in touch.

An hour later, on the road with Riverside shrinking in her mirror, Jim breathes a little easier. She laces her fingers with Spock's (because she's missed holding his hand) and uses her other hand to drive.

Their communicators are propped on her dashboard in the charging/connecting port—it's so that if either one of them get a call, Jim can just answer it with a click of a button, and through the use of her car speakers, can enhance the sound.

Spock and Jim talk about a variety of things. About their crew and their ship. About the situation with the Romulans and the Klingons (and apparently the Cardassians as well).

They share their personal thoughts about Jim's family, and Spock describes his own family (the one's Jim hasn't met, and the others that were lost with Vulcan).

Jim explains why she's not so into Christmas (outside of getting gifts for her siblings), and Spock explains how his mother used to celebrate the date on Vulcan. After a while, he grows solemnly silent, and Jim rubs her thumb against his as they continuously hold hands.

Sometime after midnight, and maybe even later than that, they're driving through Denver, Colorado when Jim's communicator lights up with Chapel's name in bold letters.

"What's up, big head?" Jim answers as Chapel's lovely face appears across the small screen.

Chapel pouts playfully and says, "_My head's not that big_."

"Debatable."

Chapel's bubbly laughter fills up the car.

Jim smiles. "What do you want?"

Chapel rolls her eyes and pointedly addresses Spock, "_Hi, Spock! How are you? You looked like you survived Jim's family okay._"

"I am certain you are being less than sincere," Spock reasons with a quirked brow.

"_Of course. I'm sure they were just as lovely as our beloved Jamie,_" Chapel says with a wink. She looks back to Jim. "_And as to why I called, Goldie_—"

Jim lifts her eyebrows expectantly as she keeps her eyes on the road and changes lanes.

"_The gang and I were talking, and we've come to the decision that surprising Nyota and Monty with a Vegas getaway is **absolutely** in their best interests_."

"Vegas?"

"_Vegas_." Chapel grins excitedly. "_Where are you now? You think you can make it out?_"

"Actually we're in route home. When exactly were you talking about springing this on them?"

"_On the 31st. That way we can be back by the 1st so they can get married on New Years like they planned_."

"Well, I'm all for it." Jim looks to Spock to confirm and he inclines his head in agreement.

"_Yeah?_"

"Yeah, let's do it."

"_Great. I'll let the others know. And remember, it's a surprise. So no spilling the beans_."

"If anything, Christine, you should be saying this Janice, because that boy cannot keep a secret to save his life."

Chapel laughs again. "_Alright, I'll keep that in mind. See you guys soon. I missed ya'll_."

"And we missed you too. Bye." Jim kills the connection with a tired sigh. The edges of her vision blur slightly, and the constant flicker of the highway lamps overhead become sort of lulling in its own way.

Spock says, "Jim, you are fatigued. Pull over and I will drive."

"You can drive?"

"You do not recall the occasion when I have done such?"

"No. I must have been quite intoxicated." Nevertheless, Jim steers onto the shoulder of the road carefully and unbuckles her seatbelt so they can switch places. As they pass each other, Jim takes the opportunity to kiss him, slow and gentle, right under the stars, and he brushes his thumb under her right eye as though to swipe away some invisible tear. She pulls back with a smile, and she feels like she has a thousand words she wants to say to him, but she can't really figure out how to voice any of them—doesn't really understand what the words are she wants to say. In the end, she pats his cheek as he watches her with intently dark eyes before sweeping past and climbing into the passenger seat.

Spock readjusts the driver's seat (seeing as how his legs are longer than Jim's) and realigns everything accordingly before pulling off onto the highway again.

Jim wiggles down in her seat and closes her eyes to sleep.

The next time she opens them, it's mid-daylight and they're driving through upper Nevada with the windows down. She has to pry herself from her seat and makes Spock pull into a rest stop so she can pee. She takes off her trench coat, tosses it in the back, along with Spock's, and climbs out with a glorious stretch. She's hungry and sweaty and goes to her trunk to grab an outfit that fits the current weather.

Before she actually follows Spock inside, she grabs her communicator and her purse. She says, "Go get me food. You know what I like."

Spock quirks an eyebrow as he holds open the door for her.

Jim smiles and adds, "Please get me food? I appreciate everything you do for me."

Spock's lips twitch. "Very well. Since you have asked courteously."

Jim snorts and knocks the back of her hand against his chest before trekking to the restrooms. She tucks away in one of the stalls, empties her bladder, and then quickly changes into a loose fitting, bright white long-sleeve backless mini dress with a zebra-print belt and matching gladiator sandals. She finger combs her hair into a messy bun, resting it on the crown of her head, shaking out her bangs and slapping on a pair of white sunglasses. She drops her handbag on the sink and ignores the curious glances the other women give her as she fishes for her communicator.

When Jim finds it, she immediately calls Chapel.

"_What's up, babe?_" Chapel says, appearing on screen.

"What are you doing this afternoon?"

"_Nothing much. Well—I'm having lunch with my parents, but other then that I'm free. Why?_"

"Because I need your help. I think I might—" She glances around and sees that she's not going to be able to say what she wants to say aloud. Too many nosy ears, so to speak. "I'll message you."

"_Kay._"

Jim kills the connection, exits the restroom and starts to type as she looks for Spock.

*_I think I might want to get **intimate** with Spock when we get back tonight. I need your help getting ready, if you know what I mean._

Jim slides her handbag in the crook of her arm and looks around. Her brow furrows when she notices the increasing interest being tossed her way, and it starts to concern her. She clicks her way to the food court as she fishes for her chapstick, finds it, and then runs it over her dry lips a few times.

Her communicator vibrates and she quickly opens up Chapel's answering reply.

**_**Oh. OH! oh. my. god. Ohmygod. OH MY GOD. Yes. I will totally do this with you. Oh my GOD. This is unreal. Call me as SOON as you get here._**

Jim laughs explosively. She types out a reply.

_*Calm down. You would think it was **your **sex life or something. One more thing. Do NOT under any circumstances, tell Nyota. She will never let me live it down. We can fill her in later, after the whole glam of her wedding wears off._

Chapel's response is immediate.

**_**Spock's going to be filling YOU in later. ;DD_**

Jim blushes and wonders if she's made a horrible mistake.

**_**I won't tell a soul. You can count on me. I got your back, Goldie. 3_**

Jim smiles and rolls her eyes before she tucks her phone away, smiling innocently when Spock approaches her with a bag of food. "Mm, smells good," she says as she takes the bag and delights in the way his dark eyes roam over her with unconcealed interest. "What is it?"

"Grilled chicken wrapped in a thin flour bread with green and red peppers and onions," Spock responds, gaze still leveled with her hips.

Jim grins. "So like a chicken fajita?"

"It was also referred to as such," Spock agrees before he steps in close and rests a hot palm on her lower back. He lowers his voice as his lips brush her ear and she tries not to shiver. He says, "We should depart before any spectators gather the courage to approach us. We appear to have attracted unfavorable attention."

Jim glances around, and sure enough, people are murmuring to each other (and themselves) as they edge closer to her and Spock. She can feel her right hand cramping already. "Spot-on. Let's flee," she decides.

They make it seven feet before they're stopped and petitioned for a photo and an autograph.

That of course just confirms everyone else's suspicions, and soon a crowd of people wanting the same surrounds them.

Spock and Jim don't make it out of that rest stop until forty-five minutes later. They scramble away before a new wave comes, and when they return to the parking lot it is blessedly empty of all persons.

Spock quietly watches her scarf down her (now cold) fajitas as she leans against her car in attempt not to spill anything on herself.

The sun burns brightly in the sky.

Jim wipes her mouth and her fingers clean with a napkin before she turns to him. She grins slowly. "I want to drive," she says, and then purposefully presses up against him as she wiggles her small fingers in the left front pocket of his pants. She slides the tips of her fingers all around, caressing his thigh more than actually looking for anything.

Spock's brown eyes darken and he swallows. "_Jim_."

"Oops," Jim says lowly as she bats her eyes at him coyly. "Wrong pocket," she murmurs, leaning in close enough that their lips almost touch (but not quite) and wiggles her fingers in his other pocket. She laughs against his lips when he gives into the temptation to close the distance.

Spock bites her bottom lip in reproach. He gentles it with his tongue, licking away whatever layer of chapstick she had on, making an approving sound when she shudders. "You are aware that I am holding your keys," he murmurs into the corner of her mouth before he pulls back and places said keys in her hand.

"Yeah I know," Jim says cheerily, ignoring the way her knees feel like they might give out. "I just wanted a reason to grope you."

Spock quirks a brow, but his eyes are warmed with his pleasure. "Indeed."

Jim winks before she climbs in the driver's side. She adjusts her seat and the mirrors as Spock climbs in as well. "You're not hungry?" she asks with blatant concern. "We can stop somewhere if you want."

"That will not be necessary," Spock flatly assures as he puts his seatbelt on. He watches her as she shifts gears and starts to back the car up slowly. "I consumed a portion of the food you packed away while you slept."

"You ate my salads?" Jim says with an amused frown. "I totally was saving that for—" She presses her foot down on the brake pedal suddenly and the car lurches to a stop as a car flies by behind them. "Fucker!" she yells, hitting her fist into the steering wheel.

"Jim—"

"Did you see that? Asshole almost rammed into me! _Ugh._" Jim mutters a few more swears. "I should chase after them. Yeah, you know what? I'm going to—"

Spock coils his pale fingers around her wrist and gently applies pressure. "I highly advise that you do not follow through."

Jim frowns. "I'm not going to dropkick them," she protests. "I'm just going to slash their tires."

"Jim."

"Break their windows?"

"Jim."

"Okay, one window."

"_Jim_."

"You never let me do anything I want!" Jim whines petulantly.

Spock just levels her with a stare, immune to her childish behavior. "Drive so that we may arrive in San Francisco at a reasonable hour."

Jim grumbles, but she continues to carefully backup out of the parking space. She pulls onto the highway and drives, pushing the touchscreen of her radio in efforts of looking for a decent station. When she finds one, she tangles her fingers with his and they stay this way for the rest of the drive.

They make it to San Francisco in record time.

Jim parks out on the street in front of Spock's apartment complex. A few yards up the way is Starfleet Academy—practically in walking distance. She figures most of the academy instructors must live in this building.

Spock grabs their bags and they trudge past security, stepping onto the lift to go to his floor. His condo is on the tenth floor, and it looks as nice as Jim remembers. She goes to the guest room, where all her things are (still tucked away in the boxes) and she takes a moment to shoot Chapel a quick message.

*_I'm here. Coming to pick you up in fifteen minutes_.

Again, Chapel's reply is amusingly quick.

****_Yay! Let's go get you laid!_**

Jim laughs and rolls her eyes before she tucks her communicator back in her purse. She goes to look for Spock and finds him sorting through his mail. "Hey," she says with a smile. "I'm going to go run some errands, but I will be back in time for dinner. Which gives you plenty of time to make something truly amazing. Kay, see you!" She kisses him quick and hightails it out of there before he can start asking questions.

Chapel is practically bouncing out of her candy pink heels by the time Jim pulls up to the curve outside of her complex. She climbs in and whistles. "Wow. This is a nice car. Do a little shopping?"

Jim grins cheekily. "Oh don't you know? I'm disgustingly rich now."

"No. Shut up."

"Yup."

Chapel snorts. "You would be." She perks up again. "Oh that just opens up even more possibilities! I know where we can go."

She guides Jim to an upscale lingerie store with a name inscribed in Andorian and translated as 'Twisted Pleasures'.

Jim parks and follows Chapel inside with obvious apprehension. "You sure I'll find what I need in here?"

"Oh God, yeah," Chapel assures as she tugs Jim through the glass double doors. She looks around before she waves excitedly at a saleslady. "Idrani! We need some help."

Idrani, in question, is a very lovely looking Andorian female, who doesn't just walk over to them, but glides, sashaying her curvaceous hips with a grin that says she could very well eat you alive and you would enjoy every minute of it. "Christine. _Hul_," she tsks. "I have been missing your lovely face."

"Oh? Just my face?" Chapel replies, smiling coyly.

"Well no," Idrani admits as she shamelessly runs her eyes over the both of them. "Not _just _your face."

Jim _makes_ a face. "You guys can flirt later. I came here for a reason," she grumbles.

Chapel grins and says, "Jim is newly claimed by a very gorgeous Vulcan, and she would like to entice him into copulating with her."

Jim's face flares to life with a scarlet red. "_Christine_."

"Oh don't be embarrassed. She was right to tell me. I can better help you," Idrani promises.

Jim isn't reassured.

Almost seventy-eight outfits of lingerie later (a pile which Idrani insists she buys regardless if tonight is the night she wears it), Jim comes to exactly what she's looking for. She stands in front of a full-length mirror, eyeing her dark torrid blue, strapless lace push-up bra with matching cheeky underwear. She steps outside of her dressing room to show Chapel and Idrani.

"Oh yes. I knew that was the one," Idrani compliments, pleased.

Chapel chews on her bottom lip before she says, "Spock better appreciate you. Or I will."

Jim laughs with a light blush before she smiles. "Well, now all I need is something to go over it." She crosses her arms and says, "Do you have any corset dresses? I want something restricting, but not too tight that I can't breathe. Just tight enough that he'll have no choice but to rip it off me."

"I love where your heads at," Chapel says, grinning.

Idrani taps her chin before she smiles. "I have just the thing."

"Well, while you go get it, me and her are gonna go play around at your makeup boudoir," Chapel says, dragging Jim over to the huge vanity mirror. "Now, we both know that in order to really pull this off, your makeup has to be on key. I'm gonna help you do that."

Jim tries not fidgeting too much as Chapel does her makeup. But, when it's all said and done, and she looks in the mirror, she is majorly impressed by what she sees. "_How _are you not doing this professionally?" she asks, staring at the lovely artwork Chapel has made of her face.

Chapel grins smugly. "Because it's just a hobby. The health and continuation of vaginas are my true passion."

Jim laughs explosively at that.

Idrani finally returns with a sexy ruffled blue and black corset dress. She helps Jim put it on and laces up the back for her.

It's a snug fit. But it's perfectly comfortable.

"And because you are a first time customer and this is for a special occasion, these shoes are complimentary," Idrani says, taking the top off a pair of white crystal encrusted stilettos.

Jim almost faints—the shoes are so beautiful. "Wow. Thank you so much," she gushes as she slips them on.

"It's nothing," Idrani winks. "I'll let you have this coat too so you can cover up your surprise." She hands Jim a black faux-leather trench coat that falls to her knees.

Jim thanks her again as she puts it on and buttons up.

"Now let's see what we can do with your hair," Idrani says, making to grab but Jim evades her hands.

"Oh you don't have to worry about that. I'll just take it out of this bun and it'll fall into wild curls," Jim explains.

"Very sexy," Chapel agrees with a grin.

Idrani seems uncertain but eventually she leaves the subject alone. "Come then. You pay for your things."

Jim pays, and buys something extra for Chapel as a way to thank her. Then they leave together, and barely manage to trip over the paparazzi that are looming outside, waiting for them. She quickly slaps on her sunglasses, ignores their prying questions, and climbs in the car with Chapel.

"Huh," Chapel says as they drive off and leave the annoying photographers behind. "So that's new."

Jim makes a face. "No so new, but definitely getting worse. It's like they're everywhere we go."

"You mean everywhere _you_ go. I haven't seen anyone following me," Chapel points out, unhelpfully.

"Yeah, well. Soon we'll be off-planet and I wont have to think about any of this," Jim replies. It's not long before they're pulling up to Chapel's complex. "Okay, big head. This is your stop. Thanks for coming out with me."

"No problem. You know you can commandeer me anytime, Captain," Chapel says with a wink. She leans over and kisses Jim on the cheek. "Alright. You go have fun. And I better not hear from you tomorrow. You let him turn you out good. I'll see you when we all leave for Vegas."

Jim chuckles and nods. She watches Chapel climb out of her car, and she waves when Chapel looks back before pulling off, heading back to Spock's place. She'd be lying if she said she didn't take her time because she has massive butterflies in her stomach. Usually this type of thing came easy to her, but right now, she felt as nervous as she did her first time.

_Weird_, she thinks. _It's like it's all brand new._

Jim parks her car in the same spot from before and takes her time just breathing as she turns off the engine. Her stomach is fluttering with nervous excitement and small rushes of adrenaline surf up and down her spinal chord. Eventually she gets out of the car (grabs her shopping bags) and clicks her way through the lobby, nodding to security (who follow her movements with growing interest). She gets on the lift, and pushes the button for the tenth floor. As she approaches Spock's door, she smells something very pleasant. She takes a moment to pull her hair free from the bun and shake it out all around her shoulders, scrunching the ends up in her hands to create the full affect.

Jim slides her hands down her sides to smooth out the nonexistent wrinkles before she presses the doorbell. It takes a moment, but eventually his door swishes open and he watches her click through with fixed concentration. She smiles innocently and sets her bags down by the couch in the living room. "Whatever you're cooking smells great," she simply says and clicks past him into the kitchen. She peers into the pots before she turns off the stove. "Unfortunately, this is going to have to wait."

Spock's brow furrows in question. "Jim, I do no—"

Jim presses a finger to her lips as her heels click while she walks backwards to his room. She unbuttons her coat, lets it fall to the ground along the way, and crooks her finger.

Spock swallows slowly and follows her, holding her gaze as she reaches his room.

Jim's back meets the closed door and Spock stalks closer. When he's within reaching distance, she curls her index fingers in his belt loops and tugs him closer. She hops up without warning and he has no choice but to catch her. Her thighs are pressing in tight against the outside of his hips and she wants nothing more than to grind down. She doesn't of course, she can control herself, but that doesn't stop her from rocking into him slightly as she nibbles on the tip of his ear until it flushes with a dark shade of green. _God_. Those _ears. _Those ears will be her undoing, Jim absolutely swears it. She swipes her tongue over the tip and watches as it twitches.

"_Jim_." Spock sounds breathless. So far so good.

Jim slides her mouth down to his jaw before sealing her mouth over the curve of where shoulder meets neck, lets her shields fall before she concentrates on probing at his shields through the bond, coaxing him to lower them so they can wrap each other in a cloud of sensations. The grip he has on her hips tighten as his breath hitches and it makes her rock into him. She can feel him trying to resist her (but the fight is playful, a mental wrestling match for dominance) as she tries for a deeper connection. Her tongue swipes deliberately over his Adam's apple and she grins at the low rumbling sound that emits from his chest, and she probes at his shields again.

He gently resists her psionic probing with shaky ease.

"What's the matter?" She slides her lips back up to his ear with a slow lick. "Don't you want to yield to me?" she whispers against his flushed ear. "Don't be selfish, Spock—let me into that big beautiful brain of yours," she whispers, pressing her fingers along his sides and curving them around the expanse of his ribs. She enjoys the feeling of his chest expanding and deflating with each rough inhale/exhale. There's something strangely alluring about it. "Let me in."

"I cannot," Spock replies firmly as he gently resists her psionic probing once more. "My control may lapse."

Jim rests her hands directly over his chest. "You make it sound like such a bad thing." She dramatically flutters her blonde eyelashes with a coy grin.

Spock gives her this look. "Jim, I do not feel inclined to." His hands slide along the outside of her thighs. "Quite the opposite it seems. I wish to take control and—"

"Bang me on every available surface?" Jim interjects quickly, taking great pleasure in the way Spock goes just a bit green in his cheeks at her bluntness.

"I cannot even begin to—" Spock stops short, and exhales softly. Whatever he had planned on saying is swallowed right back down, and instead he says, "You are incorrigible."

"Can't be tamed," Jim counters (challenges). She leans in to steal a kiss but Spock turns his head. "Spock—come on—" she whines. She watches as the corner of his mouth twitches. Tease.

"Allow me to take care of you," Spock requests as he presses in closer, rocking his hips up and she fights back an answering groan.

"But—" Jim pauses to swallow and catch her breath. "That's all you've been doing."

"Then allow me to continue. I find great pleasure in it."

Jim holds his gaze for a long time. Her hands move up from his chest to his shoulders, and then to the bottom of his ears, tiptoeing her way up to those enticing pointed tips where she keeps them pinned between her thumb and forefinger. She grins smugly and says, "Make me."

Spock crushes his lips against her with a low sound and thrusts his tongue in her mouth as though she's the last drink of water he'll ever have. He presses her into the door like he wants to push her right _through_ and he plunders her mouth like wants to take her apart right here and _God_, Jim wants that. She wants it.

Something in their bond shifts, and any hold she has on her mental shields crumble as he pushes his way in, and _oh, oh, oh,_ it's like a sensory overload because he lets all his shields fall before he just pours the very essence of himself inside of her like a tidal-wave of searing heat—warm and writhing and right.

Jim kind of flounders through it—not used to this openness of the bond. She thinks she could pass out from this—thinks she could possibly _come _from this—it touches so deep. But before she can do either, he carefully withdraws so he can draw her out before drawing her in, and guiding her into his mind.

Jim blinks slowly up at the ceiling as she feels vague hints of his desire.

Spock murmurs something in Vulcan as he lowers his lips, stamping the proverb against the hollow of her throat and washes it away with his tongue so he can begin again.

Jim shudders, thighs shaking as his strong, confident hands slide against the lace binding of her dress in the back. He tests the strength of the knots and when he sees that they wont give way so easily, he growls and rips them clear off with a simple twist of his wrist. She gasps, not because she's surprised, but because of how much that blatant show of strength turns her on.

Spock twists his hands again and the dress pools to the floor at his feet—ruined and no longer wearable.

"I _liked_ that dress," Jim breathes in faux protest.

Spock lathes his tongue over the curve of her left breast, causing her to shudder. "You are being dishonest," he murmurs lowly. "You would not have worn it if you did not want me to damage it."

Jim smirks as he lowers himself to his knees, pressing hot kisses against her quaking stomach. Her breath hitches as he gently teethes her medical badge tattoo with a displeased sound. She wonders if he knows why she has it. The insignia it bares must give it away.

Spock doesn't say anything, however. He slides back up and fixes her legs to his waist, pressing an unseen button that makes his door swish open as they step through. He carries her to the bed and gently lowers her to the edge as he sinks to the floor, standing on his knees. He spends a moment just watching her, lifting his hand to cup her jaw and swiping his thumb over the seam of her swollen bottom lip.

Jim feels vulnerable under his gaze for some reason. Like he can see beyond what he sees now, and slowly, a flush starts to crawl its way up the side of her neck and to her cheeks.

Spock's gaze softens at that, but becomes no less intense, and he leans up to gently press his lips to hers. He eases her mouth open with a tender caress of his tongue, probing past her lips and sliding along her teeth.

Jim widens her jaw and touches her tongue to his, curious and shy, but he guides her tongue into his mouth, inviting her to take over the kiss. She makes a broken little sound as her tongue sinks past his pliant lips, and she tangles her fingers in the silk strands of his hair. The stroke of her tongue becomes desperate as she fights to find control again—she's never liked giving it up. But here and now, as her heart thrashes behind the teeth of her ribs like a drunken caged animal, as her body flushes with nervous excitement, she thinks she might want it—submitting. She trembles as her body responds to the thought with a flare of arousal.

Spock's fingers stroke up and down her spine before they come to rest on her bra strap. He pauses and coils his tongue into hers, asking permission, and when she sucks on his bottom lip with a nod, he unsnaps it.

Jim shivers as it falls, exposing her breasts to the warm air of his room, and it causes her nipples to stiffen with interest. She pants with a groan as his thumbs slide gently over them and he eases her onto her back. He follows that caress with his tongue, warm mouth sealing over her right breast, making her back arch as she tangles her fingers in his comforter.

Spock's tongue curves against the underside of her breast before he presses his lips to her sternum, mouthing the arc of her ribs through her skin.

Jim squirms against it—into it. She chews savagely on her bottom lip as his fingers coil around the sides of her lace underwear, scraping his blunt nails against her skin as he pulls them off and tosses them off to the side. She resists the urge to blush as his tongue follows the indented line in her skin that the elastic band of the underwear left behind on her pelvis. She swallows dryly, fingers tightening into his comforter as his head lowers, tongue riding the trembling curve of her inner thighs.

He uses his thumbs to spread her open before he presses his lips in and gently sucks on her clit until she gasps with a sharp cry, arching into it. His mouth is perfect mixture of wet and warm and firm and _God _it feels so good, his _tongue _is so—_oh fuck, fuck, yes_—

Spock makes a rumbling sound of approval as he works his tongue—twisting, stroking, and teasing. His hot hands are caressing her everywhere—the outside of her thighs, the curve of her hips, the hardened bud of her nipples, and the soft skin behind her knees.

Pleasure coils inside her gut, unfurling in her chest, tightening until Jim's quivering with it. She feels it pulse through her, spreading through her body, making her tremble, her fingers clawing at his sheets, toes curling. It's so warm in his room, and she can smell him everywhere and somehow that excites her further.

Spock sucks her in and she bucks into it, working her hips into the sensation as he pins her with that heated stare and works his tongue at a tauntingly slow pace.

Jim says something, moans, she's not even sure if they are even words—she means to beg but her words keep getting stuck in her throat as he increases the suction of his hot mouth, wrenching a choked cry from her lips. She sobs, gasping as her thighs tremble uncontrollably, liquid heat coursing through her whole body and—_God_, she's going to come, she can—can feel—

Spock releases her with a wet sound and she whimpers in protest. He slides his tongue down to her opening and he teases the tip of his tongue in and she squeaks and tries to clamp her thighs together but those dexterous fingers of his are already there, gently prying her legs apart, holding her open. A low whine forces its way out of her throat. He pulls his tongue back and dips in again as her thighs spasm around his head. He spends a moment just lathing his tongue all around, purposefully dodging where she needs it the most until she begs desperately, fingers twisting in the covers above her head, hips arching up and he finally, _finally_, concedes, sinking his tongue all the way inside of her and she comes on a choked wail. Her orgasm races through her like coursing liquid heat, pushing a flush through her as ecstasy sears across her body, fanning out in pulsing sweeps and leaving her breathless.

She pants out broken groans as he kisses his way up, taking off his shirt and removing his pants while he settles between her thighs. She's still trembling by the time his presses his mouth against hers, opening up her lips and dipping his tongue inside so she can taste herself. She vaguely hears the sound of foil ripping as he shifts his hips and puts his hands between them. It takes her a moment to realize he's putting on a condom, and if her body didn't feel so heavy and muddled, she would have offered to slide it on him herself—just as an excuse to wrap her fingers around him and learn the size.

Spock shifts again, curling one hand under her lower back to raise her hips up slightly as he presses the tip of his cock in.

Jim makes a small sound, and he pauses. She doesn't want him to stop—she just wants them to be joined together in every possible way and she doesn't know how to ask for it.

Spock doesn't move, and Jim almost panics—thinks that maybe he's changing his mind. Maybe he won't go through with it, and a mix of bitter disappointment washes over her—catches her off guard. She's still trembling under him, limbs frozen by his deeply dark gaze, and in that moment her heart feels more present than she's ever known.

Something in his gaze shifts, as if he catches something in her expression she hadn't meant to show and suddenly he's pushing forward, penetrating and Jim chokes on a sob because, _God, oh God—oh God—_she's going to come, _fuck_, she's going to fucking come again and all he's doing is pushing his way inside of her. Her thighs are trembling against his hips and her stomach clenches—the edge of her orgasm is yanking her belly button low, down to her curling toes and it's almost too much.

Spock presses in all the way and Jim has this instantaneous thought/feeling of _yes, yes, perfect—_because he's a good fit, _God_ such a good fit. He feels like he belongs inside of her.

Spock's hot fingers drops to her meld points and she keens, gasping when she feels that familiar _push. _He sinks in her mind just as easily as he does into her body and his presence sifts through her head with affectionate fluidity. It's like he's warm sand, falling into every crease and crevice of her mind, filling up all the gaps, making her whole.

Jim feels the joined–**_pleasure, awe, harmony_**_—_and fights the urge to cry at the strength and weight of it. It fills her up, settles into her chest, burns her eyes wetly and scrapes a desperate sound from her throat. She convulses around him, gasps and sobs and thinks, _God_, she's never had it this good before.

Spock lets out a quiet breath as he waits it out, lets her enjoy it, and eases her down with slow thrusts before she relaxes against him with broken pants. It doesn't take long before she groans impatiently as she moves her hips, encouraging him to go faster, and his breath hitches in a way that sounds both pleased and tortured. He begins to move his hips faster and mutters Vulcan psalms into the curve of her neck, and it sounds so worshipful and raw and happy and—**_joy, wonder, ecstasy_**—and Jim can hardly stand the rapture of it.

Every time Spock moves his hips, twists, thrusts in, seeks out the places that makes Jim cry out, that makes her whimper, that eases her onto the edge of coming but not quite—he learns her, watches her with darkened eyes—hungry for that information and desperately drawing it out of her in every possible way.

Jim thinks this is what true torture feels like, what being completely consumed by something feels like, what making love feels like, but she doesn't know, isn't sure—she's so lost to it.

The night goes on, the stars shift in the sky as the universe moves, but Jim is immune to it all. She's in this moment with Spock, learning his body as well as he's learning hers. They take their time, letting the desire rise and reach its peak before building again and again.

They do so many things—both eager for it, both eager to give it.

Sometimes that means Jim sinking her mouth down on his cock, working her tongue up and down as she looks up at him from under her lashes with a coyness that makes him tangle his fingers in her hair with desperate stillness.

Or sometimes it means Spock holding her down on her stomach, fingers sliding inside of her, pushing, twisting and pressing, giving her every reason to cry out as she bites and claws at his sheets.

The craving never stops, but only increases, builds, and spreads—until Jim and Spock are together again in body and in mind, making them question why they ever wanted to be apart.

It's then that she thinks they both know what this is. It's a shared truth—theirs, intimate, seamless. It's no longer just Jim and Spock, but—**_JimSpockJimSpock_**—**_together, one, complete_**—**_t'hy'la_**.

Jim never knew it could be this way.

Never knew she could have it.

888

**STARFLEET CORRESPONDENCE  
HIGH PRIORITY  
STARDATE 2253.12.28  
ADMIRAL RICHARD B BARNETT VIA STARFLEET HEADQUARTERS  
CAPTAIN JAMES T KIRK OF SAN FRANCISCO, CALIFORNIA  
CC: SPOCK**

_Captain Kirk & Commander Spock,_

_This is an official summons. Your presence is mandatory. _

_Admiral Barnett_

888

For two days, Spock and Jim have sex (make love) nonstop without ever tiring (except when they have to eat, sleep, or pee). It's almost insane how wrapped up in each other they get—she almost misses the urgent notification sent to her to both her communicator and main work PADD. Because honestly, if it weren't mandatory, she would keep Spock in bed with her for the rest of their lives.

Jim manages to restrain herself long enough to take a shower (shared with Spock and eventually _shared _with Spock).

They climb out and manage to get dressed in their grey dress uniforms between the frequent exchanges of kisses and touches.

Jim slicks her hair into a low bun before meeting Spock by the front door, who is ready and waiting with her hat.

Spock's dark eyes stay fixed to her face as he places her hat on and adjusts it gently.

Jim smiles, slow and pleased, and laughs against his lips as he follows that smile with his warm lips, caressing her body with his hands in search of all the soft places that make her gasp and shiver. She pushes him back as she licks at her bottom lip and says, "We are going to be in so much trouble if we don't get moving."

"Indeed." Spock sounds distractingly breathless. "You are correct. I apologize for compromising you."

Jim nods like a responsible adult and fixes her uniform before she pauses and says, "Fuck it." She throws her arms around him and jumps up so that her legs can wrap around his waist.

Spock makes a small sound of surprise before he shifts their weight and slams her back against the front door.

Jim makes a winded sound at the force, but it doesn't hurt. Actually it turns her on a little, his display of strength, and how he can just move her body anyway he wants without even thinking about it.

Spock sinks his tongue in her mouth as his hands grope at her waist and at her sides, eventually snapping loose her hair tie so he can tangle his fingers in her blonde hair—gripping, tugging, and twisting.

Jim moans as her hips shift against his, desperate for better contact, for his skin, for _anything_. She yanks down the zipper of his uniform jacket and tugs up his white t-shirt so that she can get her hands on the hot skin underneath as she sucks on his tongue.

Spock breathes her name against her lips as he grinds up into her, sending her a little bit further up the door.

It's pure bliss—until it's not. Both their communicators chime loudly.

Jim groans and Spock stiffens, dropping his hand from where they were wiggling onto her meld points. "_No_—ignore that. Get back to the melding," she begs.

"We will be late." Spock dutifully ignores her pouting and over-exaggerated puppy dog eyes. His eyes follow her trembling bottom lip and he catches himself before he leans forward. He swallows. "We will be late," he reiterates, but it sounds as if he's trying to convince himself more of this than her.

"We can be late," Jim urges and slides her hands up his chest, thumb circling his nipple under his shirt.

Spock's breath hitches as he places his hands on either side of her head. "Jim, we cannot," he maintains. "It would be greatly reprehensible."

Jim frowns as he curls his fingers around her wrists and gently removes them from under his shirt. "What, you're serious?"

Spock sports this look that says he undoubtedly is.

"Spock!" Jim pouts and jumps her hips in a slight tantrum. "You can't possibly leave me with this perpetual hard-on."

Spock's eyebrow twitches, like he isn't sure what to do with it yet. "Jim, you do not possess the male reproductive organ."

Jim gives a leering grin. "How would you know? You haven't checked since fifteen minutes ago. Now's the perfect time to—"

"Be silent, Jim," Spock says softly as he eases her down onto her feet before he curls his fingers around her own. "You are behaving childishly."

"And you're surprised?" Jim questions as she strokes her middle fingers along his, taking great satisfaction in the way his pupils seem to dilate from pleasure. "Just ten more minutes. I want you to hold me down and make me scre—"

Spock quickly presses two fingers to her lips to quiet her. "I ask that you do not complete that statement."

Jim pouts as her shoulders slump.

Spock is such a spoilsport.

Feeling just a bit devious, when Spock pulls his hand back she quickly lashes her tongue out and catches the tips. That seems to do just the trick. His shields waver, if only for a second, but that's enough time for Jim to slide in and hug his mind to hers. A victorious grin curls her lips at the corners and their bond hums pleasantly at the connection.

Spock stiffens, shudders and then growls, "_Jim_." He is very aware of what she's just done.

Jim widens her eyes innocently and tightens the connection, interweaving gold threads through the shared link, making sure that any attempts of separation will be quite difficult.

She thinks: _Hey Spock, wouldn't it be easier if we just stayed connected like this all the time. Mind-wrestling you gets tiring after a while._

**_We have discussed this before. I am not comfortable with the connection outside of the privacy of this apartment. You are disruptive to my mental focus._**

_Is that a pretty way of saying that its really easy for you to get distracted by me?_

**_Undo the bindings, Jim._**

_No. I like our minds being wide open to each other. Why can't we just stay like this?_

**_I have already explained. _**

_Well it was a dumb explanation._

Jim smiles at Spock as she feels his exasperation.

"Why do you purposefully enjoy goading me?"

"I don't know. Why are you so easily goaded?"

"That is a quandary I have contemplated repeatedly."

Jim rolls her eyes. "I'm selfish, Spock," she says simply. "If I think I can hold your attention for even a second, I'd gladly take it. Even if I have to pull on your pigtails like some school bully." And she's being honest when she says this. Not that that had been her intention. "I just like feeling apart of you, and vice versa."

Spock is silent though. No doubt considering the frankness and truth of her words.

It makes Jim a little wary—shy almost, and there is a second where she begins to wish she could swallow her words.

"Jim," Spock begins in a gentle tone that speaks of the rejection he's about to voice, and it's enough to make her blush.

Jim feels stupid. "No, forget that I said that. You're right." She quickly withdraws from his mind, shoves him out, and slams her shields back up before he gets a chance to do anything else. She turns and pushes the button that makes his door slide open before she quickly walks through. She climbs onto the lift and fishes for another hair tie in her pocket, putting her hair into a bun as neatly as she can before she adjusts her hat—all the while mentally kicking herself.

Spock eventually climbs onto the lift beside her, uniform straightened and immaculate as ever.

The silence between them is very heavy and awkward.

Jim clears her throat and pretends not to feel the tension. She straightens her shoulders as they reach the main floor and glides past security with an artificial smile and out into the hot Californian sun. She sighs as she feels the brush of mildly warm wind pressing all around her. She strides through the Academy grounds, ignoring the curious and awed look of the cadets, and makes for Starfleet Headquarters, which sits adjacent to the Academy.

"Jim."

She looks over to see Spock keeping up the pace with her. He looks uncomfortable, so she slows down some. "Yes?" she replies evenly (guardedly).

"A mental union—I am not entirely opposed to the idea," Spock explains carefully, earnest. "However, I do not believe you understand the full ramifications of such an act."

Jim nods at the acknowledging cadets they continue to pass. "Give me more credit, Spock. I've talked to both your dad _and _Prime Spock. I know what it means. It's like marriage isn't it? Once we go all in, there's no going back, right? Is that what you're afraid of?" she asks. And how strange would that be, to actually be dating a Vulcan who has a complex about commitment. Shouldn't Jim be the one with the complex?

"Jim—do not presume that commitment is the issue," Spock corrects, and she scowls because even though he can't sense her thoughts, he can still read her just as easily, maybe even more so now as of late, which is so not fair. "In light of the recent change to our relationship, I believe it would be paramount to delay any further actions when concerning the depth of our bonding."

Jim understands where he's coming from. She's not against taking it one step at a time. But still—she didn't miss the implication in his voice. "I wasn't trying to propose to you," she warns.

"I am aware."

"Hey! Don't sass me, Spock. I'm serious," Jim argues as she walks backward and lightly whacks his chest (twice). "Get that smug little thought out of your head because I wasn't." She lets him grip her shoulders and turn her the right way as she goes on to say, "I can't very well help the fact that thought of you being inside of me all the time is too appealing to resist." She waggles her eyebrows suggestively with a grin.

Spock looks at her long and hard for more than three beats of silence. "You are attempting to entice me," he deduces.

Jim laughs, pleased with herself, and the fact that he caught on. "There's no attempt about it—trust me." She winks, just as they reach the glass double doors of the building. She takes a breath and fixes her uniform once more. "Okay—hopefully we can be in and out. Maybe this is just them giving us the go ahead to ship out earlier than what was anticipated."

Spock looks vaguely doubtful but he inclines his head anyhow, reaching up to adjust Jim's hat properly with an indecipherable look in his dark eyes.

Jim gives him a quiet thanks before she slides through the door he holds open for him. They make their way across the lobby and to the reception area, where the receptionist leads them up a few flights of floors to Admiral Barnett's office.

Admiral Barnett is standing behind his desk with Fleet Admiral Marcus sitting in his chair.

Jim manages to tamper down a confused frown, but that doesn't dull the worry that starts biting it's way through her gut.

"Captain Kirk. Commander Spock. Come in," Admiral Marcus says as he rises to his feet.

Jim and Spock look to Admiral Barnett, who gives a quick nod, and they enter the office, moving to stand at attention on the other side of the desk and in front of their seats.

"It's nice of you to finally join us. I was worried you wouldn't show," Admiral Marcus drawls before he flicks his steely eyes between them. "It would appear that you two have picked up a sort of celebrity status." His gaze turns directly to Jim. "More you than anyone else in all of Starfleet."

Jim's jaw tenses uncomfortably.

"Captain Kirk—do you understand the complications of your public image? I am increasingly seeing your face in all the media circles," Admiral Marcus continues, and he doesn't exactly sound angry—but he sounds strange, calculating. He picks up a clicker and directs their attention to the view screen to the left of the room, opposite to the windows.

The first image is of her walking with a friend she met in Italy. They were on their way to a wine festival.

(**_picture from above scene can be found in my livejournal or AO3 account in the same chapter_**)

The next image is of her walking out of her favorite coat store in New York.

(**_picture from above scene can be found in my livejournal or AO3 account in the same chapter_**)

The next image is of her walking from a beach in Hawaii.

(**_picture from above scene can be found in my livejournal or AO3 account in the same chapter_**)

The next image is one she doesn't really recall where she might have been.

(**_picture from above scene can be found in my livejournal or AO3 account in the same chapter_**)

The next image is of her kissing some guy she'd met while she was passing through Spain.

(**_picture from above scene can be found in my livejournal or AO3 account in the same chapter_**)

The next image, the one Admiral Marcus decides to keep up on the screen, is her on that same beach in Spain but a full body view.

(**_picture from above scene can be found in my livejournal or AO3 account in the same chapter_**)

Spock stiffens and his shoulders tense with his upset.

Jim could guess that he doesn't enjoy having his girlfriend's body on open display like that in such a professional environment.

"Do I have your attention on this matter Ms. Kirk or shall I continue? I have plenty more of these lovely candids," Admiral Marcus says with a sort of vindictive gleam.

Jim tightens her grip on the rim of her hat and, very calmly, says, "No, sir. But to be fair—these are all pictures from this past summer."

"Oh trust me, I've seen the more recent ones," Admiral Marcus states dryly as he flicks his gaze between them. "Is this—_relationship_—going to be a problem?"

"No, sir," Jim and Spock say.

"Because while usually I am against such things, considering what I've heard of the circumstances, I'll let it slide," Admiral Marcus says. "But keep it off the bridge and off-duty. Understand? I don't want you two having some kind of lovers spat that could compromise the safety of the ship and its crew."

"Yes, sir," Jim and Spock say.

Admiral Marcus nods, satisfied. "Now—I've been working with our PR team to try and figure out a way we can do some damage control with the media. Because I have to tell you, Ms. Kirk, our image seems to be riding on your shoulders."

"Sir?"

Admiral Marcus leans forward and presses his fists into the surface of the desk. "Enlistment has gone up at least fifteen percent ever since they manage to put faces to the heroes in the Nero fiasco. And when all eyes turned to you, the percentage increased another thirty-two percent," he explains. "Starfleet has become for the young it seems, and the age demographic is starting to veer more towards civilians in their early twenties. And that's all good and well, but we need to maintain it. Hell—I'd say let's see if we can't increase on this. But I need you two to be smart and progressive. You realize there is a war coming, yes?"

Jim and Spock do not reply, but they are aware.

"What if I told you, that come January of 2255, all of our best starships, and all of our best officers will be drafted to fight?" Admiral Marcus questions, flicking his gaze between them. His gaze lands on Jim and it becomes calculating (reminding her of Leila practically). But whatever he's thinking, he's concealing it well.

"I would ask you how you could possibly know or be sure of that, sir," Jim says as she keeps her gaze forward.

"Oh I have it on good authority, don't you worry," Admiral Marcus replies as he pushes off the desk. "Until that date comes, we're working in a timeline. We've got to set things in order, perfect our ranks, and perfect all those young and juvenile officers. And we also have to expand our reach. Which means I'm going to be sending you and your crew to every inhabited planet we know of so that you can play ambassador and persuade them to pledge their allegiance to the United Federation of Planets."

"If I may, sir," Spock begins. "I am uncertain of what it is you request. Are we to petition species of all manners—whether or not they have prior knowledge of technologies and science? Doing so would be an immeasurable risk to their own development, would it not?"

"It will have to be penned down as a technicality," Admiral Marcus replies.

"I am Vulcan, sir," Spock maintains evenly. "We embrace technicalities."

"And I'm asking you, for the sake of these missions and the outcome of the war, put them to rest," Admiral Marcus firmly advises.

"Sir," Spock continues. "The Prime Directive states, 'No starship may interfere with the normal development of any alien life or society'. This is the core of Starfleet, and yet you are asking us to violate it so that our numbers may outweigh the enemy's."

Admiral Barnett looks proud, but Admiral Marcus's face goes stern and hard. "I've been in this game longer than you, son. I know how the rules work."

"Forgive me, but I do not consider it a game when the fate of an entire species hang in the crossfire of several warring races," Spock curtly replies.

"I'd think carefully before you use that Vulcan logic to judge my standing on this. You won't change my mind."

"I am also half-human, sir. I believe my opinion is not entirely biased. I am speaking from two standpoints, rather than one."

"Commander Spock, are you questioning my authority?"

"Negative, sir. I am questioning your methods of authority."

Admiral Marcus looks furious and he grows an ugly red with quivering rage. "Are you giving me attitude?" he demands.

"I am expressing multiple attitudes simultaneously," Spock coolly counters and Jim has to fight down an answering grin. "To which are you referring?"

"Out!" Admiral Marcus barks. "Dismissed."

Spock doesn't frown, but his brow furrows as he stares at the Fleet Admiral with a small sense of displeasure before he flicks his gaze to Jim. He seems reluctant to leave her, but he steadies himself and exits Admiral Barnett's office without another word.

Admiral Marcus follows his retreat with a scowl.

"He did have a point, sir," Jim says, boldly.

Admiral Marcus turns his attention to her. "Yes. I am aware of that. But you know I am right as well." He straightens his posture. "You know, deep down, that if we're not the ones doing the recruiting, then it's the Romulans and the Klingons." He shakes his head. "I am rather surprised at your Commander, since it was him that brought it to our attention that they were forming an alliance with the Cardassians."

Jim frowns as she recalls what Spock had told her during their trip back to San Francisco—of the research and investigative digging he'd been doing for the past several months, and of his initial findings. She'd been upset for a little while that he hadn't told her sooner, but that quickly shifted over into worry of what that alliance could potentially mean. And just like that, Jim knows Admiral Marcus has a firm stance on his argument.

If they didn't reach out and offer protection to any and all who were not already under their banner, then the Romulans and the Klingons and the Cardassians would not hesitate to do so themselves. And their visits would not be so kind, but forceful and demanding—even deadly.

"What exactly is it that you want me to do, sir?" Jim says, already knowing that Spock would not be happy with her for agreeing with this. "You called me here for a reason."

"Indeed I did, Ms. Kirk," Admiral Marcus replies easily with an unnerving smirk. "I need you to set the example. It has not escaped my notice that you are our best and brightest. You're courageous and you think fast on your feet. That's exactly what we need." He makes his way around the desk to stand right before her. "The success of this entire plan rides on your shoulders, Captain Kirk. We'll be sending you out six months earlier than any of our other ships. This means from the very beginning of February to the end of July, it's your responsibility of paving the way for the rest. If you can smile and charm and gain us what we need—the tide of this war will undoubtedly be in our favor. And hopefully, we can get as many as fifty thousand new recruits in and out in time for war."

Jim fights down an answering frown. "Yes, sir. You can count on me."

Admiral Marcus smirks. "Oh I know," he simply retorts, cryptically. He nods to Admiral Barnett. "I'll be seeing you." With nothing further, he strides out of the office.

Jim looks to Admiral Barnett, who is already sinking in his seat with a weary face. "Admiral—"

"I know, James," Admiral Barnett interjects just as Spock enters his office again.

"_Admiral_," Jim continues. "Permission to speak freely?"

Admiral Barnett stares up at her before he nods.

"This is really pushing the limits," Jim says, quickly diving in. "I mean—_recruitments? _Timelines? Media manipulation? Setting aside the Prime Directive?" She throws up her hands. "This is clearly military-based tactics."

"Yes, I know," Admiral Barnett calmly states.

"Do you?" Jim questions. "Is that what we've become now? Because I have to say, I thought we were explorers."

"What do you want me to say?" Admiral Barnett says. "Fleet Admiral Marcus has the backing of the entire Federation, as well as President Sanara Dadari."

"But, sir," Jim presses. "It just doesn't feel right. All of it just—it doesn't _feel _right."

"I agree that his methods are a bit extreme and unorthodox," Admiral Barnett concedes. "But it is a shared opinion among many that his experience and willfulness is essential to winning the impending war."

"I'm not asking you to go over his head or anything. But there must be other solutions to this. There must be someone who we can talk to and really get an assessment of our options," Jim implores.

Spock, who has been quiet, says, "I agree with Captain Kirk's opinion."

Admiral Barnett flicks his gaze between them before he sighs. "Do you have any idea what a pain in the ass you two are?" he asks, not unkindly.

Jim grins, triumphant. "I think we have some idea," she replies.

Admiral Barnett snorts before he pulls out his PADD. "I'll make some calls—see who I can get into contact with. But I want you two to stay out of it. If anything happens, I'd rather take the blame," he says. "I'll do some digging and see what I can find. You just keep your heads low and follow all orders."

"Yes, sir," Jim and Spock say, simultaneously.

Admiral Barnett nods, satisfied. "I'll let you know what I come to. Dismissed."

888

The early morning of December 31st finds Jim and Spock boarding a private shuttle, reserved specifically for all invited parties of the soon-to-be bride and groom.

Jim plops down in the first row with an excited grin, literally bouncing out of her seat (and still, admittedly, a little doped up with endorphins from the amazing shower sex her and Spock had that morning)—he'd pressed her against the tiles and did everything he could to make her scream (she probably woke everyone in the building).

Spock looks as blank and normal as ever—except his shoulders are set in a content line and his dark eyes are riddled with warm satisfaction.

Rand, Chekov, and Sulu board the shuttle a moment later, instantly exclaiming their joy at seeing their Captain and Commander.

Jim returns the sound as she gets on her feet and hugs them all before they take their seats.

Rand takes a window seat in the back.

Chekov and Sulu sit right behind Jim and Spock.

Sulu drums up a debate with Spock about some kind of plant that Jim doesn't pay attention to the name of because it seems kind of like boring botany talk.

Chekov must notice her boredom because he engages Jim with a mathematical equation he's been trying to solve for the past three days, and together they work through it.

Chapel eventually shows up and says, "Alright everyone, time to jazz ourselves up. Take this." She goes up and down the aisle, handing out Vegas-themed streamers, confetti, balloons, hats, and noisemakers. She also passes out some shirts and large glasses, demanding that everyone put it on. The one she has for the girls are a white t-shirt with pink sleeves and says 'We're with the Bride' and the one for the guys is a white t-shirt with red sleeves and says, 'We're with the Groom'. She snaps some pictures before she looks at her watch. "Okay here they come. Get ready. When they take off their blindfolds, shout 'Vegas'."

Scotty and Uhura step on the shuttle with blindfolds over their eyes, holding onto a (now longhaired) Kenya.

Chapel gives her the thumbs up as she holds up her communicator.

Kenya takes off their blindfolds just as everyone exclaims "_VEGAS!_"

Uhura cups her hands over her mouth as she laughs in utter joyful surprise, leaning against a stunned, but grinning Scotty. She says, "Oh my God."

Jim snickers as she takes out her own communicator and starts snapping pictures.

"Oh my God, I hate you!" Uhura cries as she hits Chapel. "She made me think that all of you were lost somewhere—I don't even know. And it was like you couldn't make it to the wedding or something."

"And we were going to have to elope," Scotty adds as he shakes his head with a wide grin.

Chapel makes an apologetic face. "Sorry, not sorry. I needed it to be a surprise."

Uhura rolls her eyes but she hugs her best friend in gratefulness.

Jim hands her communicator over to Spock, asking him to take pictures for her so she can scoot on up to the two and join in on the hug.

Chapel reaches out and pulls Kenya into it as well.

They don't stay like this for long because the pilot, along with the flight attendants, herds them into their seats so they can get ready to lift off.

By nine a.m., they're dropping down in Las Vegas and taking a shuttle to their hotel.

Chapel, being in charge of everything, checks them in and leads them up to the two separate presidential suits, which, by the way, is immensely impressive.

Jim flops back on one of the beds and decides it's like staying in someone's fancy apartment.

"No, no, no!" Chapel says, tugging Jim into a standing position. "We've got too much going on today for you to just lay down. Let's go downstairs. This place has a breakfast buffet that closes in two hours."

They meet the guys in the hotel lobby, and together they all go to the hotel's restaurant area, where they're put in a large booth. Everyone spends the first few minutes grabbing their food before they actually return to the table and engage in lively conversation.

Jim makes Spock sit by the window so she can lean against him and eat off his plate, as well as her own.

Spock doesn't even react to it anymore—he just gets clever by doubling up on his food in preparation.

Across from them is Uhura and Scotty, who are being grossly (adorably) lovey-dovey, feeding each other and exchanging frequent kisses.

Beside them is Sulu, who's sitting between Uhura and Rand, who's next to Kenya.

Chekov is sitting next to Jim, while Chapel sits on the other side of him.

The morning is perfect—and then it's not.

"I am so sorry. I realize I am completely late." The person in question who spoils everything is none other than Leila Kalomi. She's wearing (yet another) red dress, face and hair primped and immaculate as ever.

Everyone shoots each other glances in confusion, trying to figure out why she's here.

"I got tied up in a couple of affairs so I had to catch the next shuttle out," Leila continues, ignorant to the shared looks (or maybe she's choosing to ignore it). "If you'll excuse me, I have to run to the little girls' room. Save me a seat won't you?" She sashays away and out of sight.

"Okay," Jim says, breaking the silence. "Who the fuck invited her?"

Chapel shoots Rand an accusatory look, and soon everyone is looking at him.

Rand flushes and says, "Okay. It was me." Everyone starts fussing at him but he holds up his hands. "I'm sorry! I'm sorry. She convinced me with her body."

Jim rolls her eyes, as does every female at the table.

"Hey, you can roll your eyes all you want. But that woman has an incredible body," Rand maintains. "I would have probably sold my soul if she'd ask me to."

Everyone boos him and throws some type of food his way as he laughs, unapologetically. The commotion tampers down once Leila returns.

Kenya gets up and swaps sides, sitting next to Chapel while Leila takes her seat beside Rand.

When Leila isn't looking, Jim catches Rand's eye and pretends to stick her finger down her throat and gags.

Rand laughs, shaking his head and gnashing his teeth at her while he throws a strawberry her way.

Jim sticks out her tongue as she catches it, and before she can even think about eating it, Spock takes it from her hand. This causes her to frown, which in turn inspires him to press a kiss against the corner of her mouth while he strokes his middle fingers against hers under the table. Her cheeks go a little pink, but it's only because she's happy (and not because Chapel and Uhura are throwing her these smug little looks).

"Well," Leila says, almost haltingly drawing everyone's attention. "I don't know how much I missed—" She flicks her gaze between Jim and Spock as she speaks. "—but I'm wondering if you wouldn't mind sharing the story of how you got together." She quickly looks to Uhura and Scotty. "I mean _engaged_, of course."

Jim frowns and her lips purse. There she goes again, playing those little verbal games. God, Jim just wants to shove her into the sun.

"Ah, well, Nyota is the better at storytelling," Scotty decides as he leans back and spreads his arms out, one hovering over her shoulders.

Uhura shoots him a fondly amused look before she rolls her eyes and says, "So one night Monty and I decided to have dinner in the Enterprise's kitchens. I promised him I would make my family's sweet potato casserole—"

"Which, by the way, is so good that if I hadn't considered marrying her before I ate it, I certainly would've after," Scotty interjects and grins when Uhura elbows him playfully.

"Let me finish," she says. She drifts her gaze around and goes on to say, "We were both tied up with projects and we agreed we'd meet at exactly six o'clock. Well I was there, but six o'clock came and went and he was nowhere to be seen."

"So she calls me," Scotty adds. "And let me tell you, this one here has a rather stern temper. Making her cross with me is the last thing I want."

"I _called _him to see what was taking so long," Uhura jumps in again. "And he says he's trying to fix one of the drains. There's something stuck in it, right? So he tells me we'll have to reschedule our dinner date."

"And she did not like that one bit, let me tell you—but it was all apart of the plan. See I knew she'd come and hunt me down," Scotty says and waggles his finger with a confident grin.

Uhura gives a smiling sigh. "_Anyway. _Yes, I did go looking for him. If there's one thing I can't stand, it's being stood up." She continues, "I found him in the lower decks, half his arm inside a silver tube."

"Drain."

"Whatever," Uhura says. "I start fussing at him and he apologizes but he says it's a life or death situation. Then he looks to me and says that his hand is too big, that's why he can't get it out."

"So I ask her to be a good dear and reach in and grab it. I told her that she would know it when she touched it," Scotty supplies. "I give her this pleading look she cannae ever resist, and she comes over, shoving me out the way and sticking her right hand down into it. So I says, I'll be right back, I'm going to go get you a towel."

Jim doesn't realize she's leaning in until she knocks her elbow into the table. "And then what?" she urges.

Uhura grins at her and says, "Then I'm standing there, feeling my way through what feels like slime and muck, cursing Monty in Andorian—and that's when I feel it. It's small and weird, and as I pull it out, I start getting really mad. I'm thinking that this man has me digging in the nastiest texture I ever felt for this little itty-bitty thing. But when I finally get it out, and it takes a minute because I have to shake off the slime, and wouldn't you know it—it's a wedding ring. At this point I'm really confused, and I turn to say something to Monty but he's already on his knees with yellow roses—"

"Her favorite," Scotty quickly explains.

"—and he's looking up at me with this earnest, love-struck face," Uhura continues, gesturing passionately with her hands. "He says the universe is a big place, and he often feels so very small and insignificant. But he tells me that when he's with me, I make him feel large and so very capable of doing the impossible."

"Told her I wanted to feel that way for the rest of my life," Scotty gently interjects as he looks at her with such admiring adoration and besotted love. "And if she should have me—I'd do my very best to be her hot water as long as she was the tea. My gram used to say that a woman is like a tea bag, and you never know how strong and lovely and good she can be until you put her in hot water. I want to be her hot water."

Uhura smiles at him, almost teary-eyed.

Jim feels so very touched too. "Awe," she coos as she squeezes Spock's hand under the table. "That is so sweet—I think I just got cavities."

Everyone laughs, but Leila just looks off to the side like she's bored of Jim.

Leila says, "Well I am so very happy you two found each other. It's a rare thing."

Uhura nods, and she smiles when Scotty kisses her cheek. She turns her head and kisses him fully, laughing when he brushes his nose against hers in an Eskimo kiss.

"Okay you two lovebirds. Save some of that for the wedding," Rand jokes.

Uhura holds up a fist at him and makes a mock face of anger, scrunching her nose cutely.

"I hope I'm not interrupting," a deep, sober voice with an English accent says.

Everyone looks over and stares at the tall, pale man with neatly styled dark hair, dressed in all black and holding a blank face that would even make a Vulcan jealous.

Jim's immediately struck by how blue his eyes are. They're even brighter than her own (if that's even possible) and they're piercing, which makes her think of Mitchell.

Mitchell had a knowing stare about him that never failed to unnerve her. This stranger is almost the same.

"Oh, I'm sorry. He's one of my father's colleagues, and he hardly ever gets out. I thought it would be a fun idea to invite him along. He just works himself to death that I thought he could use the reprieve," Leila explains as she stands beside him. She turns her calculating stare on Uhura and Scotty. "I hope that's alright."

Uhura and Scotty exchange looks, but Scotty says, "Sure. The more the merrier."

Leila grins, sharply pleased. "Well, allow me to introduce Mr. John Harrison," she says. "John—this is Montgomery Scott and his fiancée, Nyota Uhura. They are the lovely couple I was telling you all about."

Harrison gives them a slight nod.

"And over here we have Hikaru Sulu, and his partner, Pavel Chekov," Leila says, indicating to the two with airy and delicate gestures, like some kind of royal.

Chekov blushes and Sulu's expression looks a little strained.

Leila picks up on it right away with a twinkle of something vindictive in her dark blue eyes. "Oh, my. Seems I've made a blunder," she drawls. "I thought your relationship was public knowledge. So sorry."

Sulu clenches his jaw and just shakes his head, waving it off.

Chekov shoots Sulu a concerned (and slightly hurt) look.

Jim does her best not to glare at Leila.

"Well, moving on from the awkwardness. This is Janice Rand. A special friend of mine," Leila continues. She winks slowly at Rand before she goes on to say, "And this is Christine Chapel. The gorgeous woman in charge. And Kenya Uhura, Nyota's cousin."

Harrison eyes move over to Kenya with incomprehensible interest. He doesn't say anything—he seems to be the strong, silent type.

"By the window, we have Spock," Leila says and she grins a little too fondly at him. Her grin kind of wavers as she says, "And lastly—Captain James Tiberius Kirk. I'm sure you've already heard of her."

Jim chews on her tongue as she fights down a scathing remark.

Harrison's piercing blue eyes fall to her and he stares with an unnervingly indifferent expression. It's hard to tell what he thinking as he says, "Captain."

Jim can't help but to hold his gaze, silently trying to rationalize the feeling of familiarity she feels in the pit of her gut. She says, "Jim will do just fine."

Harrison seems to consider it as he inclines his head in acknowledgement.

"Okay. Now that, that's that—what's on the agenda?" Leila says, grabbing everyone's attention again. She seems to like doing that when she realizes that she's no longer the focus.

"Uh, well. I guess now would be a good time to split our parties into two groups. The guys go off and spend the day doing whatever guys do during a bachelor party. And us girls will go and do whatever we do during a bachelorette party," Chapel suggests. "But I suggest we chose a designated group leader for both parties, here and now, just so we can be sure that we'll all make it back safely and leave on time in the morning for the wedding. So—any ideas?"

Leila, of course, has plenty. "Why don't we let John tag along with us? He has an extremely high tolerance for alcohol, though I don't think he plans to drink."

Uhura and Chapel exchange considering faces and nods.

Jim frowns. "Now hold up. If we're going to do it like that, we might as well pick Spock."

"Jim, you know that all you'll do is grope and make out with him for the rest of the night if he comes with us," Uhura says, knowingly.

Jim grins unapologetically. "Like I said, I pick Spock."

Uhura rolls her eyes. "No. He's going with the guys. For one, I trust him to keep them under control and out of trouble, and two, I wont have to worry so much if he's with them."

Jim pouts.

Chapel elbows her. "Oh don't be like that. You have the rest of your life to see Spock. Besides—I'm sure John would have a lot more fun with us anyway."

"That's assuming we know what kind of fun he likes," Jim retorts and doesn't miss the way Harrison smirks in amusement. The slight show of emotion relaxes her a bit—maybe he's not such a robot after all. "But fine. I guess he can come."

"It's not _your _bachelorette party. It's not up to you," Uhura points out, not unkindly. She smiles—too happy to actually be irritated by anything it seems.

Leila claps her hands together and says, "Okay, it's decided. Let's say our goodbyes and get a move on." After she says this, she touches her hand to Harrison's elbow and whispers something.

Harrison's jaw tenses and he gives a curt nod as his eyes survey the group with fixed calculation.

Jim ignores them and turns to Spock. "Don't let them talk you into getting a lap dance. I'm not saying this because it'll make me jealous—I just want to be there with you when you experience your first lap dance. I'll never forgive you if you have one without me." She pauses as Spock looks at her with slightly exasperated fondness. She leans closer to whisper. "_Or—_I can be your first lap dance."

Spock's breath hitches at that and Jim pulls back with a grin.

Chapel drags her out of the booth before she can really climb all over him.

Jim blows him some kisses, and then waves at the rest of the guys, giving them a thumbs-up with a grin. "Have fun, but be safe!"

Rand waves with a chuckle, while Chekov beams and Sulu smirks.

Scotty is wide-eyed with excitement, but also a little lost without Uhura by his side. He looks adorably torn.

Kenya inserts herself between Jim and Chapel, and she loops her arm with Jim's. "I have missed you," she says.

"And I you," Jim replies easily. "But I am a little bitter that you didn't bring my goddaughter with you."

Kenya quirks an eyebrow as they all move through the hotel lobby, out the revolving doors to the sidewalk. "And what would she have done here with me?" she questions.

Jim shrugs with a smile. "I don't know and I don't care. I've been wanting to hold her ever since you gave birth to her," she admits.

Chapel herds them all into a stretch limo.

Uhura and Leila sit beside each other to the left side.

Chapel settles in beside Harrison and attempts to strike up a conversation with him. She's not having much luck.

Kenya and Jim sit beside one another. She says, "Where is she anyway?"

"With Len and little Joanna, in New York," Kenya replies. "He would have come with me—I've been staying with them ever since you all returned to Earth—but he wants to spend as much time as he can with his daughter. So he offered to watch Kamaria. He says I needed the break."

"Bones is such a softie," Jim murmurs with a fond smile. She's beginning to miss him terribly. "Well, do you at least have a picture of her to tide me over?"

Kenya laughs and says, "Jim, you will see her when Leo brings her down with him for the wedding. But—yes, I have a picture." She pulls her PADD from her purse and pulls up a most recent picture.

(**_picture from above scene can be found in my livejournal or AO3 account in the same chapter_**)

Jim melts. "_Awe. _I am going to steal her from you," she warns.

"Not if I try first," Uhura chimes from her seat.

Jim sticks her tongue out at her.

They go up and down sidewalks in the heart of Vegas, hopping from casino to casino, gambling and attending special concerts and magic shows. In between it all, they knock back shot after shot until they're all pleasantly buzzed.

Harrison silently shadows them all the while.

They laugh a few times, falling over each other as they purposefully pick on him. They wrap him in feather scarves and force him to take pictures with street magicians or volunteer him to go on stage at a concert.

Jim's not sure what she finds funnier—the fact that he doesn't protest or that his face remains passively neutral the whole time. It's because of this that Jim thinks that maybe her first impression of him was slightly off kilter and that he might be harmless after all.

By the time the sun dips low in the sky, and before they start bouncing from strip club to strip club, they go bowling while they're still sober enough to do it.

Jim and Chapel pause long enough to take a quick picture when Uhura forces them to.

(**_picture from above scene can be found in my livejournal or AO3 account in the same chapter_**)

After they pay for their shoes and grab their balls (haha, _balls_—they laugh about that for a good minute), they go to their designated lane, ordering more drinks as they become competitive.

Harrison just quietly sits stiffly off to the side, choosing to forgo any participation.

When the fourth game rolls around, Jim bows out and plops down beside him, feeling bad that he doesn't have any company to keep him entertained.

Harrison doesn't exactly acknowledge her presence, but he doesn't completely ignore her as he follows the others with his eyes and watches them bowl.

Jim turns in her seat and leans back so she can stare right at the side of his face. He really is quite pale, and he's got the sharpest cheekbones she's ever seen.

Harrison says, rather flatly, "Is there something I can help you with, Captain?"

"Not unless you have chocolate," Jim replies as she plays with her large sunglasses. She might be a little beyond tipsy at the moment. Which means she'll probably be as blabby as ever. "You know," she drawls. "The whole point of vacation is to relax and enjoy yourself."

Harrison's cheek twitches before he replies, "I would not consider this a vacation. And if it were, it would matter very little. I do not vacation, Captain. I am not here of my own election, but rather Ms. Kalomi's." His cheek twitches again as he frowns slightly. "She has rather tactile methods in achieving whatever goals she sets out to complete. As of late, I have become one of them."

Jim snorts. "Well what exactly does she want with you?"

"She recently had a dispute with her father—I was just a means to get under his skin," Harrison explains, continually gazing at the others.

"Okay. Now I'm really curious," Jim says as she watches him. "Who are you?"

Harrison smirks but it quickly fades. "It seems I've earned the attention of Starfleet's most distinguished captain. What am I ever to do with that?" he dryly asks as he finally flicks his gaze over.

Jim slowly grins. "You're a bit of an asshole—I'm getting that now," she decides as she holds his gaze unapologetically. "But seriously. In what way do you know Admiral Marcus?"

Harrison flicks his gaze away as his expression turns a little dark. "I am—an advisor of sorts. One of his best." He doesn't elaborate.

Jim hums thoughtfully as she rolls his answer around in her mind. "John Harrison. Consulting Consultant." She taps her large sunglasses against her chin. "Has a good ring to it I guess."

Harrison lips curl briefly before they fall into a solemn line again. He turns his piercing gaze onto her and he studies her long enough to make her fidget if she were sober enough to do so. "I have my usefulness, Captain," he says, voice low and calculating.

Jim doesn't want to find it attractive, but she does, and she feels a bit guilty and confused by it. She looks away before she can flush and give herself away. "My name is Jim. Not Captain," she mutters.

"Of course," Harrison agrees, and it sounds almost mocking but she can't tell because his tone is so even. But then he tacks on, "Captain" and she knows for sure.

Jim shoots him a look, and without really meaning to, mutters, "Consulting Asshole."

Harrison quirks an eyebrow, but he looks no less amused. He stands, and says, "If you will excuse me." He disappears and Jim is way too tipsy to really care or workout where he's gone or why.

Chapel stumbles over to her with an intoxicated grin and just says, "Strippers!"

Jim chuckles and lets Kenya haul them both to their feet.

They stumble out of the bowling alley after they return their shoes and make their way to the closest strip club.

Funnily enough, the placed is called 'Hunk Mansion' (and apparently it's supposed to the best).

Uhura gets pulled onto the stage by a few male strippers when Chapel announces she's getting married in the morning.

Leila and Kenya are tossing feathers and confetti at Uhura as she gets sandwiched between three male strippers, who grind and gyrate against her.

Chapel starts knocking back more shots as she gets a lap dance.

Jim folds herself in a dark corner, smiling to herself as she accepts some random drinks sent her way (paid for, apparently, by Leila) and she drinks them each one of them down (seven by cou—no wait—_nine_ by count). She giggles to herself and declines a lapdance from a male stripper.

Harrison is somewhere in there, but she only knows that because she feels his heavy gaze.

Her mind swims pleasantly, and she lasts a good while before her stomach churns unpleasantly and a sudden cool sheen of sweat breaks out across her body. She stumbles to her feet and out the entrance, into the cool night air. She sighs in relief as she sways down the sidewalk and into the alley, leaning over in efforts to empty the contents of her churning stomach.

There's a sound of several footsteps and low cackles.

Jim frowns as she straightens and peers over her shoulder to see a group of shady men, smirking at her with something vindictive and dark.

_For fuck's sake,_ Jim thinks as they close in around her and herd her further into the shadows of the alley. _I don't have time for this shit._

"Aren't you pretty?"

A hand reaches out and caresses her jaw.

Jim smacks it away with an intoxicated scowl.

Laughter presses in all around her.

"I don't know, man. I don't think she likes that."

"Looks ready to go to me."

"Maybe we should help her find her way home."

More laughter.

Jim counts four heads and studies their builds.

"Oh she looks interested now."

"Too quiet—I don't like them quiet."

"I'm sure we can get her to scream."

"C'mon, baby. Gimme a kiss."

Jim may be drunk, but she still has a wicked right hook.

A cry of pain. A thump to the ground.

"Fucking shit."

"Bitch!"

"Hold her down, man! Hold her down!"

"Fuck! He didn't say she'd struggle."

Jim lets out a quiet breath of air as two of her attackers shove her back and presses her into the brick wall. They pin her wrists on either side of her shoulders.

"I'll go first."

A sharp sound of a zipper.

Jim waits until he's close enough before she kicks him in the balls, and while he's hunched over, she pushes up off his thigh to wrap her legs around his head before she twists her whole body.

The grip on her wrists disappear as they all fumble.

Jim falls to the ground with the man she has her legs wrapped around. She sits up with some difficulty (still kinda drunk) and she starts throwing her fists down until she feels bone cracks and the warm wetness of blood.

Hands grab her upper arms and yanks her up before a fist slams several times across her jaw, her right eye, and then into her stomach.

Jim makes a winded sound, before she elbows the man to her left in his eye.

He yelps and stumbles back, letting her go so he can hold his offended eye.

Jim takes advantage of her free arm and punches the guy to her right in his throat.

He chokes as he goes stumbling back into a pile of garbage.

Jim feels a sharp sting in her right leg and she's suddenly being grabbed from behind, hands wrapping around her throat as she gets shoved into the brick wall again, face first.

That same hand curls into the hair of her ponytail, pulls her head back before slamming her head forward.

Jim chokes out a pained cry as the man behind her fumbles for her belt. She begins to panic as he yanks out her belt, but the weight suddenly disappears and the man goes flying several feet up the alley.

Several yelps sound off.

Then there are a few helpless cries.

The sound of bones breaking follows and echoes in the dark and dank alleyway.

There's one last choked sob of pain.

Jim slides down the wall as her vision swims slightly. She twists her body to find the sources of the sounds, and she stiffens in surprise when she's met with the sight of Harrison practically demolishing her offenders with his bare hands. He shows them no mercy, almost beating them into unconsciousness, and Jim makes an upset sound in an attempt to get his attention.

Harrison, who has his back to her and is hunched over a bloodied attacker, pauses and his shoulders stiffen as his fist remains frozen beside his head.

Jim coughs as she climbs to her feet with the aid of the wall and spits blood off to the side.

Harrison lowers his fist and stands, using the grip he has in the attacker's shirt to haul him to his feet as well. He tosses him into the pile with the others as he turns and approaches Jim.

Jim shrinks back slightly at the intense savagery she sees lurking behind those piercing blue eyes.

Harrison stops a mere three inches from her and his eyes quickly assess her injuries before he reaches forward and picks her up, holding her bridal-style.

Jim gasps around some protests, even as her head pounds viciously and her ribs creak painfully.

Harrison ignores her as he carries her through the back entrance of the strip club, and into the dressing room, where the other male strippers watch them curiously.

They try to flock over in concern but one sharp glare from Harrison cows them.

"Get me a medical kit and some water. Now," Harrison barks and they all scramble. He swipes his arm across the counter of a vanity, uncaringly knocking all the materials to the ground as he sets Jim on top and props her so that her back is against the bulb-lined mirror.

Someone returns with a medical kit and some water.

Harrison pops the kit open and grabs a slender pen light, using his thumb to widen Jim's eyes as he shines the light in.

Jim scowls at him and tries to twist out of his grip.

"Be still," Harrison growls, impatiently. "I fear you may have a concussion."

"I'm fine," Jim grumbles.

Harrison releases her head and leans back to really look at her with an indecipherably stoic expression.

Jim fidgets and winces when it makes her ache all over.

"Captain—there is a knife sticking out from your thigh. Are you aware?" Harrison murmurs as he stares at her intently.

Jim frowns and glances down. Sure enough, sticking up from her right leg, is a small switch blade. "Oh," she merely says and wraps her fingers around the handle, yanking it out with a quiet sound. "That explains that pain I felt earlier."

Harrison continues to gaze at her, and he looks as if he doesn't know whether or not to be impressed or exasperated. Eventually, his face just clears of any expression and he smoothly replies, "Most would be alarmed."

"I've had worse."

Harrison lifts his brow at that, but he doesn't look surprised and Jim finds _that _peculiar. He grabs a regenerator from the medical kit as he presses the cup of water in her hands. "Drink," he instructs as he sets to work with patching up all her injuries. "It wouldn't do for your friends to see you this way. I believe you don't want to worry them in this occasion."

He's right but Jim doesn't say so. It's strange that he would know she wouldn't want to bother any of them with this. It would certainly ruin Uhura's special night and Jim does not feel up to being the one responsible for that. Not with the wedding being only hours away, and honestly this isn't a big deal—she _has _had worse.

Jim takes careful sips, even though she has a split lip and her chest aches, and tries not to squirm.

Harrison's hands are firm and confident as they move from injury to injury, and he has a hardened look of nostalgia in his eyes that make it somewhat obvious that this isn't his first time doing this sort of thing.

"What kind of consultant can fight like that?" Jim asks suddenly, without really meaning to ask.

Harrison doesn't look at her as he removes the bruises from her neck. He says, "One who has been trained."

"Why? What do you need the training for?"

"For situations such as this," Harrison coolly replies as he meets her gaze for a short moment. "How favorable for you, it seems."

"I was doing just fine on my own," Jim mutters and doesn't miss the quick smirk he gives before it quickly disappears.

"You appear to be a magnet for trouble," Harrison reasons. "Though I have to admit I was quite impressed with what I saw. Your fighting style is a lot more savage than what they train at Starfleet Academy. Most are black and white, never in-between."

Jim takes another swallow of her water as she considers that. "I've had to fight all my life. I know all about grey areas," she admits quietly.

Harrison pauses at that and he looks at her with those piercing blue eyes. "As do I," he murmurs deeply. "You and I are similar in that."

Jim grins bitterly. "Careful, Harrison. You're becoming more and more bizarre to me. I'm starting to think you're not just a consultant."

"I hold the rank of a commander as well, if it pleases you to know," Harrison confesses dully as he works on the cuts and bruises on her face. His hands are gentle as he angles her face.

"So you do work for Starfleet—not just a consultant," Jim speculates.

"I am many things, Captain," Harrison merely informs as he drops his hands and steps back. "I believe that should be sufficient enough—though I'll be unable to do anything about mending your ribs."

Jim frowns as she sits up with some struggle. "How did you know that—"

Harrison presses a hypo into her side and she trails off with a surprised yelp before she glares. He merely lifts a brow.

Jim rubs her side (because God fucking damn that _hurt_) and snaps, "What the hell was that?"

"An inoculation of sorts," Harrison says cryptically. "A little something of my own design. It'll speed the process of your healing—among other things."

"What?" Jim says and she blinks in hazy confusion. "You just said—"

"I am aware of what I said. However, I was merely attempting to distract you from the pain. This particular hypospray has a very thick and long needle," Harrison explains and tucks it away in his back pocket. "Your ribs will have mended themselves by the morning. If there are any complications, you should inform me straightaway. I'll place my comm link in your communicator."

Jim just stares at him, and she dimly tries to understand what the hell just happened. She can't follow a single thread of thought because she feels scatterbrained by her intoxication.

"Can you walk?" Harrison questions watchfully—calculating.

Jim answers his question by sliding off the vanity and onto her feet.

"We should return to the others and lead them back to the hotel," Harrison decides, sliding his eyes down her body with thoughtful detachment before he turns and exits without waiting for her.

Jim stumbles after him and she clings onto a giggling Kenya, who instantly plants lipstick kisses onto her cheeks.

Harrison manages to herd all of them into a shuttle cab, which drives them back to their hotel.

They make a commotion as they take the lift up to their presidential suite.

Jim showers, and disposes of her clothes, and stumbles to the closest bed (which happens to be the couch unfortunately). She has every intention of comming Spock to check up on him or assure him of her wellbeing, but she falls asleep instead.

She dreams of black thunderclouds, and of caterpillars weaving themselves in cocoons to become butterflies.

Chapel wakes them up four hours later, fussing about how they have to get ready and catch the next shuttle to Los Angeles (because this is where Uhura and Scotty want to get married).

Jim has a massive hangover (or something that feels like one). The moment she opens her eyes, everything is so bright and sharp that it practically hurts. Her memory of last night comes to her in confusing patches—a testament to how much she must have went overboard with the drinking.

Everyone looks dead on their feet (besides Spock) as they meet in the hotel lobby before piling into the transport cab, which takes them to their private shuttle.

Leila and Harrison are nowhere to be seen, strangely enough, but Jim could hardly care about anything outside of the growing nausea rising in her.

Everything feels extremely loud, too vivid, and sometimes things look like they move too slowly. Her mind is a rush of thoughts, of instantaneous assessments, of calculations building up in an instinctive manner. Her body feels weird—more than usual actually—but she just chalks it up to the consequence of a wild night. She's never had a hangover like this before.

Sulu passes around a hangover remedy (bless his little soul) as they buckle into their seats but her relief is short-lived because this remedy does nothing for her.

Jim sighs tiredly as she hugs Spock's arm, and is too exhausted to complain when she hears the sharp pitch of everyone's voice yammering on all at once, and her mind assesses them all, thinking on the frequency and the angle of which it's coming from. God, she doesn't even _want _to think about that but it's like her body is doing its own thing.

They touch down in Los Angeles around ten a.m., giving them about five hours before the wedding, which is scheduled to start at exactly three p.m. that afternoon.

The wedding is being held in the backyard of a cozy country-themed manor on private land.

Chapel, being the maid of honor and a little in charge, ushers the bridal party into the house, up the stairs and into a massive bedroom where hairdressers, stylists, and makeup artists are waiting for them.

Jim tries her best to perk up on her own, declining the coffee offered to her by one of the stylists as she sits in the makeup chair getting her face fixed up and trying not gag at the clash of smells she can suddenly pick up on. She tries not to fidget too much as one of the hairdressers' fixes her hair in an intricately traditional Ghanaian wedding hairstyle.

This is one of the few exceptions where she'll let someone mess in her hair.

Jim gets herded away so someone else can take her place in the makeup chair and she goes to sit beside Kenya, who is sending constant messages to Bones (who is on his way to the house with her daughter and her grandmother).

A professional photographer comes up to them and petitions them for a picture.

Jim is tired but she does her best to smile as Kenya wraps an arm around her, hiding her phone from view, and giving one of her infamously gorgeous smiles.

(**_picture from above scene can be found in my livejournal or AO3 account in the same chapter_**)

A stylist then swoops in and grabs Jim and herds her over to a clothes rack, rambling on and on about the kind of outfit she thinks Jim should wear since she'll be the one officiating the wedding. They eventually agree on a one-shouldered cream-colored bandage dress with matching pumps.

A caterer comes in the room with a cart full of brunch inspired treats and mimosas.

Jim indulges in the chocolate filled croissants and, blessedly, the bizarre hangover passes and her body returns to normal.

Bones strolls on into the room with little Kamaria (she's wearing a puffy silk dress with a flower crown) in his arms just as Jim is stuffing her seventh croissant into her mouth (she's unnervingly hungry all of a sudden). She squeals and claps as she clicks over to them, making grabby hands for the utter adorable baby girl.

Bones snorts. "Easy, easy, Jim. I'll give her to you. Settle down," he says with unconcealed amusement. He passes Kamaria over and Jim immediately coos. "You look nice."

"Thanks," Jim says, but then she realizes he isn't talking to her, but rather to Kenya, who saddles up to them in a flowing white dress.

"Thank you," Kenya says with a smile.

Bones nods and he smirks at Jim. "And you're not so bad either," he supposes.

Jim rolls her eyes as she gently rocks Kamaria, who is sucking wetly on her small fist. "Gee, thanks," she mutters sarcastically. She takes a moment to eye him in his charcoal grey, two-piece suit (with a skinny silver neck tie) and makes an impressed face.

Kenya leans in close to her daughter and makes kissy faces that makes Kamaria squirm happily in Jim's arm with a toothless smile.

Jim just melts even more. "Okay. It's official. I'm taking her from you," she jokes and turns as if to shield Kamaria from view.

Kenya just chuckles and shakes her head before she excuses herself to go and greet her grandmother, who is hovering around Uhura as she gets her makeup and hair done.

"So," Jim says, breaking the silence as she shifts Kamaria and smiles when she begins sucking on Jim's thin elongated pearl necklace with the aid of her tightly clenched chubby fists. "Long time no see."

"Oh you'll be seeing plenty of me once we get back on the godforsaken ship of yours," Bones grumbles as he slides closer and smiles softly at Kamaria who is watching him with wide, curious blue eyes. She makes a sound and rocks a little in Jim's arm. Bones's smile gets a little bigger.

"She's taken with you, I see," Jim notes as she presses her nose into Kamaria's wild curls.

"Should be—she's seen enough of this old face to last a lifetime," Bones supposes.

Kamaria smiles at him, following the movements of his lips with incomprehension. She squirms in Jim's arm and leans to him with some indicating sounds.

"I think she's done with me," Jim says, amused as Kamaria squirms excitedly when Bones reaches for her. "You just have a way with the little ones don't you?"

Bones scoffs, but he makes a ridiculously happy face at Kamaria as he holds her up high above his head.

Kamaria makes a pleased sound as she laughs.

Bones chuckles softly and lowers her just as Kenya begins to fuss at him from across the room. "She hates when I do that. I think she figures I'll drop her or something," he says as he grins over at a glaring Kenya.

Jim snickers and pats him on the back. "Don't goad her then," she advises. "Wanna go see what the guys are up to?"

Bones shrugs like he couldn't be bothered to care but he still follows her across the hall to the other wing of the house where the groom and his party are lounging around, playing poker and being obnoxiously loud.

They're all wearing matching brown/champagne colored three-piece tuxedos with beige bowties. With the exception of Scotty, of course, who's wearing a five-piece tuxedo with correlating colors to his groomsmen (but he still has a beige bowtie).

Jim feels a bit envious of the bowties. She darts her blue eyes over to Spock, who's sitting at the rounded table with the rest of the guys, and she makes a mental note to steal his. He's holding a hand of playing cards and wearing the best poker face for the poker game. She snorts and makes her way over to him as they all cheer their greetings at her and Bones.

Bones walks over with Kamaria and peers down at Scotty's hand, shaking his head pitifully and Scotty squawks in indignation, shushing him desperately as Kamaria laughs at his antics.

Jim slides in Spock's lap and puts herself between him and his cards, but he keeps a steady eye on what he's been dealt while his other hand presses to Jim's lower back, keeping her upright. She leans close and whispers about what she plans to do to him later when she gets him out of his tuxedo.

Spock's face takes on a hue of green, and it's several moments before he realizes that she's purposefully distracting him so that Scotty can get the upper hand in the game.

Sulu and Chekov make booing noises at her while throwing their poker chips at her.

Jim laughs unrepentantly before Uhura's mother ushers them all out of the room and out into the backyard.

It's beautifully set up with white chairs and white flower petals, under the trees and just undeniably romantic.

Jim moves to the front after she does a bit of meet and greet with both Uhura's and Scotty's family, who receive her with gracious warmness. Then she moves to the front and stands under the white metal arch entwined with leaves and white ribbons and white lilies.

Scotty walks up the main aisle, nodding and smiling at both parties of their (soon to be joined) families as the rest of his groom party follows. He stands to the right of Jim with a nervously excited smile as Chekov, Sulu, Spock, and even Keenser, falls in line behind him.

Off to the side is a live band with cellos and violins, which begin to play as the ceremony starts.

Bones sits on Uhura's side in the front beside her grandmother and parents as Kamaria sleeps peacefully in his arms.

Chapel is the first to walk up the aisle, then Kenya, and then Clara (Scotty's younger sister).

The band pauses before they change tune, and everyone stands, turning to the center aisle.

Nyota is standing at the very end of the aisle in a cream beaded lace (mermaid fit) gown with a flowing train and beaming gorgeously under her veil. Her hair is up neatly in a set of curls and pearl pins. One arm is looped with her father, while her other hand holds a bouquet of yellow roses, tied together with a white ribbon. She moves forward gracefully with her father as everyone stares with awed smiles and teary eyes.

Jim's heart literally evaporates in her chest and she has to fight back tears as she looks over and notices that Scotty is shaking with red eyes and a shaky smile.

Nyota and her father stop, and she turns to him as he lifts her veil and he kisses both her cheeks with a wistfully teary smile. She gives his arm a comforting squeeze as he fixes her veil before he goes to take his seat beside her mother. She then moves to stand to the left of Jim and she turns to hand Chapel her bouquet so that her hands are free.

Scotty immediately grabs onto her hands when she turns back to him with a happy smile.

Jim takes a deep breath, and then begins.

Scotty and Nyota exchange tearful and shaky vows, placing their wedding rings on each other, and finally, at the end, falls into a passionately long kiss that everyone has to stand and applaud at.

Jim laughs happily when Scotty holds up Nyota's hand in his with a triumphantly cheerful face. She glances over to Spock, who catches her eye and she smiles softly. She doesn't know why but her cheeks go a little red. She shakes it off and looks away just as everyone moves across the yard to where the reception area has been set up under a huge canopy tent.

There's a large dance floor, tables and a DJ waiting for them.

Scotty and Uhura cut their wedding cake and feed each other before they find their seats.

As everyone eats, the wireless microphone gets passed around amongst the head table where the bride and groom and their party are sitting.

Jim is the last to receive the mic, and she's a little apprehensive to give a speech but Chapel and Kenya urge her to her feet. She sighs and takes it as everyone watchfully waits. She says, "Um. Hello." She laughs. "I'm sorry. I'm not that great at speeches and I hadn't really planned on giving one, but, um." She pauses as she looks over at Nyota and Scotty, who are curled in close to each other. "Nyota. Scotty. I am just—so very happy that you two found each other." She goes on to say, "It's no easy thing to find someone and decide whether or not you want to spend the rest of your lives with them. Sometimes it takes three or six or maybe a hundred different types of people before you get to the point where you understand exactly what it is you're looking for. And no one is perfect. None of us. But I just hope that you two have gotten to understand that about each other because marriage, in my understanding of it, is a partnership. You'll be pulling from his strengths and he'll be pulling from yours. And when you need him to, he'll hold you up and when she needs you to, you'll hold her up. It's just basically about support and unity. The idea, I think, is to become one individual person together. And it's just like Mignon McLaughlin says, a successful marriage requires falling in love many times, always with the same person. So as your friend, I just, um, I _really _do hope that you spend the rest of your lives just constantly falling in love with each other in the happiest ways possible.

"I love you guys, and I wish you the very best, and many blessings, and _all _the good things that comes with marriage and family and so on. Um, so, yeah," Jim finishes with a smile as everyone claps.

Nyota wipes her wet cheeks with Scotty's handkerchief before standing and indicating to Jim to come to her. When she's in reach, Nyota pulls her into a fierce hug that Scotty joins in on.

After that, the reception moves on accordingly under the darkening sky. The DJ plays music and lures everyone out to the dance floor. The reception is lively with all sorts of songs until at the end of the night, it morphs into slow and romantic songs.

Kenya dances with Kamaria in her arms and Bones dances with them both.

Chekov and Sulu dance, gentle and close.

Chapel dances with Ugogo (Nyota's grandmother).

Jim stands off to the side with a glass of champagne and watches as Spock dances with Nyota, murmuring words of congratulations to her no doubt as she beams happily.

Scotty eventually cuts in with a playful wave of his fist at Spock, before he swoops his new bride off the floor and spins her around joyfully.

Jim smiles against the rim of her glass as she finishes the last sip.

Spock approaches her before he pulls her close and presses his lips to her ear. He says, "You have not danced."

Jim shudders slightly and shakes her head with a rueful smile. "I don't dance. Two left feet and everything."

Spock pulls back with a furrowed brow as he gazes down thoughtfully at her feet.

Jim laughs. "It's just an expression!"

Spock's lips twitch, and he seems happier than usual. "I am aware," he confesses evenly.

Jim scoffs and lightly hits the back of her hand against his chest as he eases her glass out of her hand and sets it on a random table.

"Nyota has conveyed her dissatisfaction with me," Spock remarks, rather sudden.

"Oh yeah, why?"

"I have been remiss in asking you to dance."

"But I don't dance."

"I believe otherwise," Spock says, sounding quite confident. He gently grabs her hand and leads her to the manor, inside, up the stairs, and into one of its many bedroom.

The music is still loud enough that it reaches them.

Jim tries to frown as Spock slides closer, holding her hand up as his other hand presses between her shoulder blades, the touch almost burning. She looks up at him as she places her other hand on his shoulder and he moves them slowly.

Spock stares down at her with intent dark eyes, as though she's his only focus point and he maneuvers them carefully in a soft dance.

Jim swallows, and she hides her face in his shoulder, feeling intensely vulnerable on the other end of his gaze. There are butterflies in her stomach and her heart feels like a feather floating on a sea of oil behind the teeth of her ribs.

Spock presses his cheek to her temple and he just keeps swaying with her in the privacy of the room, murmuring Vulcan psalms to her beauty.

Jim makes a quiet sound as a healthy flush blooms up the side of her neck and reaches her cheeks. Her eyes feel a little hot and she closes them tightly so she doesn't cry.

It's not because she's sad.

It's because she's indescribably happy.

_I'll make myself remember, _Jim thinks at him, even though she knows he can't hear it. _That this is the moment when I knew, without a doubt, that I would always love you._

* * *

**Author's Note:** _Thanks to everyone for their support. You don't know how much it meant to me. Really trying to push past this down period. But nevertheless, I just REALLY enjoyed this chapter (it's my favorite so far) and I just REALLY want to know what you guys think. I don't know when the next update will be. I'm losing stamina._


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter Four**

Sharing a bed with Spock, Jim decides, is quite like being submerged in water, tucking and rolling under frothy waves.

It's kind of disorienting, but a solid comfort nonetheless, a sort of chaotic peace.

Spock is warm like the sun against her skin and solid, so very solid. He's something she can hold on to, something she can depend on. His presence seeps into her skin and sinks down inside of her, reaching for her mind and satisfying the bond they hold in ways she never thought possible.

It's honestly amazing how, day by day, moments like this, intimate times of quiet, really make her feel as though they are molding together, and becoming one piece to an entire puzzle.

Spock always keeps it warm in his room with much of the temperatures that can be found on New Vulcan. The rest of his apartment is the same. But there's something about his bed that Jim really likes. When she's succumbed to her exhaustion and she shares this personal space with him, it feels like she's submitting to something. Like she's giving a private part of herself to him, depending on him, and it's unlike anything else she's ever experienced with any other bed partner.

It's startling, that even in her dreams she can still feel him there and she doesn't have to reach far to find him. She's been noticing the changes between them, and in herself.

Sleep has become more peaceful. Sleep has become an adamant exercise in their developing relationship, and she wonders if this is something distinctive to Vulcans. Or more specifically, to couples who share a profound bond. She wants to ask, but she forgets to. Everything falls together so naturally that she will often miss how rare certain aspects of their relationship is.

But this—sleeping beside him—this is what she enjoys the most. She never realized how lonely she'd been all this time before Spock came along and shared space in her life. He's quickly taking up every inch of her world and it's wonderful and frightening and liberating.

It's like there's a part of her that wants to let go, and just really, let it all go and free-fall. But of course, she has her worries. She doesn't know if she can handle falling under, submerging herself, and going so deeply that if anything ever happened to him or if he was taken from her, well, she doesn't think that is something she can recover from.

Jim wants to say it, really, she does. Every day. She wants to tell him that she appreciates him so much. That she loves him with absolutely everything that she has within her. But she's afraid—vulnerable. Whenever they meld, whenever they touch, or just share space—she keeps her thoughts quiet. She keeps her heart quiet. She doesn't want to rush into it.

_Not yet, _Jim always thinks. _You can't know yet, just what you mean to me._

And for days, she keeps it to herself, and she waits, and she watches, and she enjoys what they have. She creates space in her mind for him, and she welcomes him into her body and into her heart. But she stays quiet.

Because love, for Jim, was never supposed to be this easy.

On a sleepy Tuesday morning, this thought follows Jim into consciousness as she feels Spock leave the bed. He's spent the better part of January volunteering his time to the academy by substitute teaching for the Quantum Physics instructor that's on maternity leave. She always hates to see him go, but she understands that teaching is another passion of his, so she tries not to pout too much.

Besides, Jim will usually stay awake long enough to follow him with her eyes as he outfits himself in the instructor uniform. She'll watch him and think, _there goes apart of me, _which forces her to turn her face in his pillow to hide her smile. She'll breath in his scent (sharp cinnamon and burning incense) and listen to his measured footfalls go from one end of the room to the other.

Jim will usually lift her head in time to make a small sound before he turns to leave and he'll return to the bed to kiss her, first gentle and slow, and then brutally hard, passionate, until she feels breathless and lightheaded.

Unfortunately, it's not enough to make Spock stay, though it is always close. He'll indulge her in a few more kisses, laced with the promise of _later_ and he'll leave for the day.

Jim sighs and rolls over onto her side to stare up at the ceiling. She thinks about touching herself while she rolls around in his sheets. She thinks about staying in this bed until he comes home and finds her. She doesn't though. She just closes her eyes and sleeps for a couple of more hours before Spock's alarm wakes her up again. Climbing out of bed and into the shower, she tries to think of what she can do for the day.

She checks the calendar on her PADD (it reads the 8th) as she dresses in some black jeans, a white tank top, and a leather jacket with matching ankle boots. She munches away on one of her strawberry danishes she keeps hidden in a shoebox because Spock would be all lecture-y and disapproving if he knew. She gives herself a Dutch flower braid after she swallows the last bite, grabs her keys, some aviator sunglasses and her purse. When she reaches her car, she takes the short drive out to Starfleet's hangar bay so she can take a shuttle up to the Enterprise.

Jim hasn't done it yet, so she figures she deserves this trip for not continuously hovering like she wants to do.

But here's the weird thing.

The Enterprise hasn't just undergone some simple maintenance and refitting.

It's been fucking _magnified_ ten times over.

The Enterprise she sees as the shuttle touches down in the space dock is the one she knows. It looks the same, only—well, now it's a fucking_ huge_ beast of a thing.

To say Jim is livid would be really underestimating her love and personal attachment to her girl.

Jim marches through the corridors of the space dock, and makes every single junior rank officer that has the misfortune of crossing her path scramble out of her way because of her thunderous expression as they squeak out replies to her when she demands to speak to whoever is in charge of things.

And guess what name she finds on the duty rooster.

John _Fucking_ Harrison.

Jim is scrolling through her contacts on her communicator as she paces up and down the empty cafeteria of the space dock with the full intention of comming Admiral Barnett and complain when she comes across Harrison's comm link. _In_ her communicator.

She's partially confused by that but she's too busy considering that to be the next best thing to really follow a tangent of thought on it.

It takes a few tries, but his pale and emotionless face appears across the small screen a mere few seconds after she presses the connect button for the sixth time. She can't tell where he is—somewhere with a bunch of small lights and cords and wires and black tubes.

Harrison doesn't say anything. He merely quirks an eyebrow.

"One—what the fuck did you do to my ship? Two—how in the _hell _is your comm link in my communicator? And three—what the _fuck _did you do to my ship?" Jim hisses, way past civilities. A fly zips past her face and she bats it away with an irritated scowl.

Harrison stares at her for a long while before he replies, "Captain, if you have any discrepancies, I advise you to contact Admiral Marcus, for it was under his duress that I carried out the specifications he desired for your vessel."

"Someone should have said something to me," Jim complains as the stupid black fly collides into her right eye. She blinks and bats it away. "I would have liked to know that something like _this _was going to happen! This is a pretty huge fucking deal, and I'm not just talking the situation but my ship. That—that isn't even—I mean, why would we need—"

"All ships are required to be modeled to that size until further notice," Harrison coolly interjects as his hands work on something out of sight. He seems not to have a problem with multitasking. Just how genius is this guy? Asshole.

"Until further notice," Jim flatly echoes. She blows away the irritating fly because seriously, what the fuck? She bats her hand at it again. "You mean until the war is over."

Harrison neither confirms nor denies. He picks himself up and begins to move to a different location.

"Okay. Listen. I've been told that we weren't expecting any conflict until next year. Am I right?" Jim questions as she walks over to a rounded table and leans back against the edge, peering out the view screen at Earth. She glances down and spots a thin rubber band. Without really thinking about it, she picks it up and coils it around her fingers, aiming it like a gun with her right hand. Her blue eyes flicks around. "Why would this renovation need to happen now?" she continues in a distracted fashion.

"Your Admiral Marcus would argue that it pays to be prepared," Harrison states in that deep and flat drawl of his.

Jim frowns as she locates that stupid black fly buzzing around one of the ceiling lights above her head. She squints her eyes slightly and follows the movement in rapid succession before the view of the fly suddenly enhances. Her sight of it magnifies, and she can almost literally see its tiny wings. The rate of its flight slows down and Jim aims her hand at it, counting a succession of beats before she allows the rubber band to pop from her fingers and it hits the fly dead on, splitting it right down the middle in impact. It's little black corpse falls like a feather at her feet and she smirks, feeling oddly triumphed.

Harrison continues, "I suppose Admiral Marcus would want you to get used to the new provisions. Better to know the weapon you wield than to learn while in the midst of battle."

Jim scoffs and rolls her eyes as she snaps out of it. "You can stop with the metaphors anytime now, it doesn't faze me," she says before she reaches for her communicator, only to see the screen is blank. She frowns.

"I will keep that in mind."

Jim jumps in surprise and whips around to see Harrison standing right there on the other side of the table with a stiff militant posture and a standard black Starfleet uniform. She stomps her boot onto the ground once her heart stops racing and she hisses, "Has anyone ever told you that you compel the strongest urge in someone to _punch _you."

Harrison smirks, but it doesn't reach his eyes. His gaze flicks down on the ground and he stares mutely.

Jim frowns in confusion and looks down too before she flushes in the realization that he might have seen what she'd done to that stupid fly. "Um—it was being annoying," she weakly explains. "Shouldn't have been in here anyway."

Harrison just lifts his eyes and studies her. "Was it?" he questions, and there is a certain depth to the way he says it that Jim can't quite figure out. "Tell me—do you always treat insects with the same amount of hostility, or is it just the common housefly that unnerves you to such actions?"

Jim relaxes her stance so she can shove her communicator in her handbag, ignoring his question purposefully. "You should know that my Chief Engineer is going to kill you."

"He may certainly try, but I would not recommend it," Harrison replies as his smirk disappears. "Shall I give you a tour?"

Jim gives her best sarcastic smile. "Oh I'm just eager to see the outcome of your meddling," she gripes and clicks past him.

Harrison lets her take the lead as they trek to the transporter room.

The officers at the transporter console immediately stand to attention, acknowledging Jim first and then Harrison as they step onto the transporter pad.

Jim's vision is lost to blinding white light and returns to her in the form of the Enterprise's new Transporter Room, which is larger and wider than it previously was, with three more transporter pads.

Harrison sweeps past her, entirely too familiar with these designs (and that irritates Jim the most because if anyone should be familiar with _her _ship it should be her), and he indicates for her to follow. "You'll find a lot has changed, Captain, with keeping the ship's continuity in top form," he drawls as they stride down the corridor (a much wider corridor). "But allow me to show you the real jewel."

"What did I say about metaphors?" Jim grumbles as she follows him onto the turbolift.

Harrison says, "Apologies." But it doesn't seem sincere in the least. "Computer. Lift to main engine room," he instructs.

"_Lift to main engine room,_" the computer chimes and the lift begins to descend into the bowels of the ship.

Jim lifts an eyebrow. "Is that another continuity?"

Harrison chooses to ignore her as the lift doors open.

Jim folds her arms across her chest with a thoughtful frown as she looks around. There is connecting framework of iron walkways that all web around the massive warp core placed directly center of the engine room.

Harrison glides down the steps and to a glass door painted in warning labels.

Jim frowns as she watches his pale fingers play over the wall console and the door activates, sliding open. "Whoa! What are you doing? The radiation will—"

"It certainly will not," Harrison calmly corrects as he steps through. "The technology that was fitted to this warp core's design enables a force field that compacts the radiation to the exact radius of the injectors."

Jim climbs through a jungle of black tubes and multi-colored wires and together they make their way to the heart of the warp core, climbing to the top where said injectors are. They're off but Jim's still wary. "So—it'll stay like that? Within that radius, I mean."

"Unless unforeseen circumstances dictate otherwise, but I am confident that you will never come to know such a scenario," Harrison replies as he stares down blankly at the injectors.

Jim makes a thoughtful sound as she pokes it. "Can it move or does it always have to be like this?" she asks as she circles it.

Harrison follows her with his steely blue eyes. "Their alignment is important to the function of the entire warp core."

"So without this, the whole ship would be dead," Jim supposes as she stops opposite to him on the other side of the large injectors. She places her hands on her hips. "It's cool, and I'm sure Scotty will just love it, but I don't get how this is a jewel."

Harrison raises his chin slightly, and holding her gaze, he says, "Computer. Activate warp core at standby motion."

Jim stiffens as a pulsing sweep of energy vibrates throughout the metal catacomb, making the small hairs on her body stand on end. The injectors buzz before they light up with a very ethereal glow of light zapping between it. Her breath catches and she watches as a symphony of sparks and gleaming light hit the shape of an invisible, circular barrier the size of a fish bowl. She exhales, saying, "Is that the—"

"Radiation. Yes," Harrison supplies, eyes never leaving her face. "Magnificent isn't it?"

Jim just shakes her head wordless, not quite knowing what to say. "Harrison—this is really advanced work," she says, looking up at him and tries to figure him out. "I mean it's beyond any of what we should be capable of at this point in history."

Harrison's lips tilt into a slight smirk. "Innovative brilliance is limitless and has no timeline," he murmurs. "Are you not already leaving your mark across the universe, Captain?" He glances down at the glowing injectors. "This is the beginning of mine."

Jim lowers her gaze as well and stares at the writhing sparks of radiation that reveal the boundaries of the spherical force field. Her communicator chirps, and Jim suddenly remembers that she set a reminder for herself to sit down and have lunch with Spock during his break. "Um," she says as she starts backing away. "I have to go and—" She frowns and shakes her head. "But I'll be back for the rest of that tour." She turns and heads for the door. "Don't think you're getting off easy by showing me some pretty lights."

"I would not dare," Harrison dryly retorts behind her.

Jim snorts and barely catches herself before she flips him the middle finger. When she's out of sight, she kind of rushes because she is running pretty behind. This was only supposed to be a short visit (and she couldn't have realized the sight she would have been met with when she came to check on her girl would be anything like that)—_God, _it still kind of pisses her off.

She sends a quick message of complaint to Admiral Barnett, and overlooks the fact that it sounds whiney and much like a petulant teenage girl complaining to her dad about her car. In the middle of doing this, she stops by an organic store to pick up an order of grapefruit jelly and lime flavored peanut butter on gluten free rye.

Jim kind of speeds back to the Academy, and almost gets a ticket, but the officer that pulls her over is a fan so he lets her go with a warning (and an autographed photo in return). She sprints across the campus, ignoring the amused and curious looks she gets as she does, and makes it to Spock's office in what she believes is record time.

Only its not because Spock and _fucking _Leila Kalomi are wrapping up their own lunch.

Jim swallows down the rising disappointment and anger she feels swelling in her throat. She watches the way Leila smiles easily as she leans against the front of Spock's desk in her formfitting red cadet uniform while he remains seated behind his desk. He seems unaware of the mooning looks she's giving him, too preoccupied by the strange black and silver orchid that's rooted in a metal pot in his hands.

Leila's lips move, words curving over a smug grin as Spock gives a reply that causes his brow to furrow.

Jim's hands curl tightly in the brown paper bag in her hand, and her heart thumps in a rush of quaking anger. She can smell brown rice and sweet perfume. She can smell dirt and rainwater. She can smell sharp cinnamon and cooking oil and vegetables and clear soda. The light above their heads intensifies and for a brief moment every detail of Spock's office becomes crystal clear, right down to the paper clip she can see stuck to sole of Leila's faux leather, knee-high boots. She gets this sort of palpable impression from Leila that she can't even explain, but it's kind of like a gut feeling or ghosting touch in her mind.

Or maybe she's reading too much into it.

But still—

_Yearning. Desire. Ambition. Obstinacy._

—it feels like Jim is picking up on whatever it is that Leila is projecting from her body.

God, Jim want's to just—to just—

_Twenty-nine major and minor bones in the human hand, _her mind supplies. _Twenty-nine major joints. At least one hundred and twenty-three named ligaments. Thirty-four muscles, which move the fingers and thumb. Seventeen in the palm of the hand, and eighteen in the forearm. Forty-eight named nerves. Three major nerves. Twenty-four named sensory branches. Twenty-one named muscular branches. Thirty named arteries and nearly as many smaller named branches. And you could break it all—you could break her—you could—you **should**_—

There's a rushing whoosh in her ears as Jim willfully snaps out of the suffocating cloud of anger and she realizes she can actually hear the blood pumping in her own veins, her heart contracting with an angry patter and the soft crinkle of paper as her fingers almost tear holes into the brown paper bag entwined with her trembling fingers. She sees Spock begin to turn his head at the sound, gets the impression that he's going to look her way, the movement dulling down into slow motion, and she uses the advantage of it to quickly tuck herself away and remain perfectly still.

"_Commander? Is everything okay?_"

Spock doesn't answer.

Jim hears him rise from his seat and she prays to whatever deity is listening that he doesn't come to investigate because she feels just a little (extremely) unhinged at the moment and she would prefer not to have a confrontation with either of them. She's trying to get herself together because she's a bit freaked by her own behavior. She might end up breaking Leila's hand or something as equally brutal—and yeah, there's a tiny decent part of her that recognizes what a bad idea that is.

_Don't come out here, _Jim thinks desperately as her eyes warm rapidly, but—it doesn't exactly feel like she's going to cry. It just feels like something else. _Don't come out here. It's nothing, it's nothing, it's nothing, it's nothing, it's nothing—_

Spock's footfalls stop right before they reach the door, and there is a brief pause.

Jim stays absolutely silent as her eyes burn.

"_Commander?_"

"_Excuse me, Cadet. I sense I may have been mistaken. Perhaps it was nothing,_" Spock finally replies, reluctantly thoughtful. "_Now, as you were saying—you have managed to crossbreed this plant?_"

"_Oh yes. It took a few months and Dr. Cruise helped me. But I've come to some success—_"

Spock's footsteps retreat and Jim lets out an exhale she didn't know she was holding. She blinks rapidly and the warm sting of her eyes disappears immediately, being quickly replaced with true tears that form to dispel the dry burn she feels. She quietly exits the building as she rubs her knuckles along the edge of her eyes and makes her way across campus. She's not sure where she's going until she ends up in Admiral Barnett's office, raiding his mini-fridge for his good liquor.

She's by herself for a good thirty minutes.

"Let me guess," Admiral Barnett says (sometime later) as he enters the room with his PADD under his right arm. "My access code must have been very predictable."

Jim is lounging in his chair with her feet propped up on the desk with a two-finger glass of whiskey she's basically just been holding the whole time and not really drinking, too distracted. "Well, yeah," she says with a grin as she rocks the chair from side to side. "Pike used to go on and on about how deep your love was for that one show—what was it called?" She squints her eyes with playful thought.

Admiral Barnett walks over and grabs the extra glass Jim left out for him and proceeds to pour himself a drink with a rueful chuckle. "Doctor Who," he supplies and sits down opposite from her.

"Oh yeah," Jim says and she cocks her head as she gets an impression of exhaustion and restlessness from him. "You're a big fan of Sixteen."

"Sixteen was a good one," Admiral Barnett supposes. "That's about the time when they finally got over themselves and let men of color portray the clever Time Lord. And I wanted so bad to be him that I joined Starfleet for it." He takes a sip of his whiskey and gives a hard sigh. "I can't believe Chris told you that. That was a truth or dare secret he pried out me when we were both enrolled as freshmen at the Academy."

Jim smiles and feels as nostalgic as he sounds. "Do you ever miss him?" she asks. "Both of them?"

"Both of them including your father?" Admiral Barnett says as he looks at her with a keen eye. "Hell, James—of course I do. I find myself thinking about what could have been. I feel bad that I'm the only one that made it this far. It was supposed to be all three of us, and then it wasn't." He sighs again and knocks back the rest of his glass.

Jim just swirls her drink in her glass and watches the dark liquid spin.

Admiral Barnett sets down his empty glass on the edge of the desk before he leans back and watches her with quiet patience. "So what brings you to my neck of the woods? As if the one hundred notifications you sent me in regards to your ship wasn't indicative enough," he drawls and watches as she grins into the rim of her glass. "But something tells me that's not why you're here."

Jim swishes the whiskey in her mouth, liking the bitter burn it coats over her tongue and teeth before she swallows it down. She says, "What do you know about Cadet Leila Kalomi?"

Admiral Barnett lifts both brows before he replies, "She's a clever and bright young woman, who has her fingers tangled in a lot of projects. Why?"

"What about her family? You know, her mother and father, and so on," Jim presses. "Call it personal concern. She's on my ship and I have a feeling she's up to something."

Admiral Barnett sighs. He says, "A long time ago, Admiral Marcus and his wife and a mutual friend enrolled in Starfleet. It's said that Marcus and the mutual friend had a tryst shortly after he proposed to his soon-to-be wife. That tryst resulted in a conception."

"This mutual friend," Jim says as she leans forward. "She wouldn't happen to be Kathryn Kalomi?"

"Yes," Admiral Barnett says. "She went away for some time after she gave birth to Leila. She didn't want to cause any trouble between Marcus and his wife. But a little over two years after they got married, Marcus's wife gave birth to a set of twins, and she died of an infection resulting in that childbirth. Kathryn returned to Marcus sometime after that and they married. Been together ever since. That's as far as my knowledge about that family goes."

"So she's legitimately his daughter," Jim says and watches as he nods. "Interesting."

Admiral Barnett's lips curl amusedly. "Why so interested? Besides the fact that you feel as if she's up to something."

Jim frowns and gives a one-shouldered shrug while she circles her index finger around the rim of her glass. "She's just been a bit too friendly with—Commander Spock," she says, trying to sound casual as possible. The words still come out a little stiff and uncomfortably forced.

Admiral Barnett laces his fingers together over his stomach as he leans back. "Commander Spock is quite the enigmatic instructor. A lot of our cadets are prone to fawning over him," he says. "Did you ever stop to consider that maybe she's just another one of those cases?"

Jim makes a face as her eyes flick from left to right with thoughtfulness and a deepening frown. "No, she's up to something," she grumbles. "A girl like that—she's single-minded. She's driven." She shakes her head. "She doesn't go after something or someone unless she's absolutely sure she'll achieve whatever goal she's put in place for herself."

Admiral Barnett chuckles before he looks at Jim fondly. "Listen—maybe you oughta talk about this with Spock. Let him know that her being around makes you uncomfortable."

"_Suspicious_."

"Well whatever it is, it sounds a bit like jealousy," Admiral Barnett states, boldly.

Jim really frowns and her fingers tighten around the glass in her hand until it breaks right under her fingers.

Admiral Barnett starts in surprise, staring at her hand in alarm and worry.

Jim's too busy trying to figure out how she managed to do that without cutting herself or splitting her palm right open. "I, uh—sorry?"

"You should probably be apologizing to the glass," Admiral Barnett says as he leans forward and eyes her hand before his gaze turns to her. "You okay?"

"Super."

"I must've been on to something since it caused that reaction."

Jim scowls. "No, _no. _Don't you think that."

"It's too late, Jim. I'm already thinking it. Unless you just have a personal vendetta against glass cups?"

"But I don't _get _jealous," Jim argues, even as something unpleasant unfurls in her gut. _You're lying. You've always felt something when it came to Spock, _her mind says. She scowls. "I—because that would be—it's not cute. I wouldn't want Spock to get jealous over me and I sure as hell don't want to turn into some kind of possessive and clingy person. It causes problems. And it's embarrassing."

"It doesn't always have to be," Admiral Barnett cleverly counters. "That's why you talk about it first, _before _it can escalate, and you make sure that you two find some common ground. I doubt Spock would think any less of you if you told him the truth."

Jim grumbles and withdraws her feet from off his desk to set them on the glass-ridden floor. "I have to go," she says with a sigh. "Gotta finish the whole tour thing with Harrison."

Admiral Barnett makes a very odd face. She gets growing impressions of wariness from him (and wow, this is just odd—has she always been this empathetic?). "Harrison. Do you—have been…" He trails off and makes some sort of 'exchanging' motion with his hands.

"Uh, not really. I don't know the guy all that well but he's very—I don't know. Hard to figure out I guess," Jim supposes as she shrugs on her leather jacket. She relaxes when Admiral Barnett's apprehension dulls down into nothing. "He's a genius, but no less irritating. Why?"

"No reason," Admiral Barnett says as he wipes a hand down the front of his uniform jacket while he stands. "Just—if you have any issues with him let me know."

Jim smiles bemusedly. "I can handle my own, Admiral. Don't you worry," she promises. "Unless there is a reason to worry?"

Admiral Barnett shakes his head. "No. Just making sure. He's still relatively new, so—trial and error and all that," he vaguely clarifies.

Jim just nods. She trusts him by his word so she doesn't push the issue or wonder about it. "We should have lunch some time," she remarks. "Until my ship gets re-commissioned, I'm constantly free."

"I will keep that in mind," Admiral Barnett says with a slight smile. "Now get out of my office so I can be productive."

Jim glances down at the floor as she grabs her brown paper bag. "Um—what about the—"

"Don't worry about it. I'll get cleaning services to take care of it. You go on," Admiral Barnett says as he moves to sit behind his desk.

"Okay," Jim says as she claps him over the shoulder before making her way to his door. "See you later."

"Don't break into my office again. I'll write you up for it. And stay away from my cups and my liquor."

Jim snorts as the door swishes shut behind her. Instead of driving, she decides to take the short walk to the Starfleet's hangar bay, just so she has some time to clear her head and get ahold of herself. She takes a shuttle up to the ship dock stationed above Earth. She finds Harrison in the cafeteria, sitting in a quiet corner with a pen and a notebook. She glances around with a frown, and notices the curious glances that the other officers shoot his way, but none seem brave enough to approach him.

There's an edge of tension in the room but everything feels so muddled that she can't really get a true sense of anything particular.

Jim marches over and sits across from him, not surprised in the least when he ignores her. He comes off as a blank wall again. "I haven't seen someone writing in shorthand since grade school," she remarks, studying his neat scrawl. The black loops and curves of his connected letters look almost archaic in its own way. "That's nice—not really legible still—but nice to look at."

Harrison pauses briefly before he continues his journaling.

"You know, the perfect way to end your notes is to write, '_I have never known a more excellent being as one James Tiberius Kirk. And I will never know—for her greatness surpasses all understanding—transcending space and time and—_'"

"Captain, if you are in need of my attention so badly," Harrison drawls as he dots the end of his sentence before closing his leather-bound journal. He looks up and meets her eyes as he continues, "You need only ask."

Jim plops her brown paper bag on the table and says, "Have you eaten? How about a quick bite before we commence with the touring?"

Harrison continues to gaze at her with an unreadable expression before his piercing blue eyes drop to the crinkled bag on the table. "Are you offering?" he asks, flicking his gaze up to her.

Jim smiles widely. "Of course I am," she says as she fishes Spock's sandwich out. She tears off the plastic covering before she takes a dramatic bite of it, pressing it to her lips with an exaggerated groan. She pulls it away and shakes her head. "_Mm—_that is good." She looks at him. "So what are you going to eat?"

Harrison's lips twitch thoughtfully before he stands. "Tell me, Captain—are you always this pleasant?"

Jim chews as she snickers. "Wait until you get on my good side," she simply counters.

Harrison just hums thoughtfully as his eyes assess every detail of the cafeteria. "Shall we commence the tour? Or would you like to continue to patronize me with your sandwich?" His gaze lowers to her as he awaits her responds.

Jim continues to chew and makes a face as if she were really thinking about her choices.

Harrison says nothing, nor does he give anything away in his expression as he tucks his journal under one arm.

"Okay. How about this," Jim says as she uses her fingers to wipe the corners of her mouth. "We finish our tour, and you outline in grave detail what it is exactly that you've done to my girl. And I promise to be as annoying as possible in return. Because, I have to tell you, I am very unhappy that my ship underwent these changes in the first place. I don't like it, and I'm not really fond of you, and you seem to not really care much for me. So…" She trails off with a shrug before she stands and trashes the bag with the half-eaten sandwich. It tasted too bitter anyway.

"By your leave," Harrison murmurs, extending a hand and indicating for her to lead the way.

They spend the next several hours, going from deck to deck, and Harrison reports every single change.

Jim hardly pays attention, only half-interested, the other half still dwelling on Spock and that pesky, pushy, bothersome Cadet Leila Kalomi.

If Harrison notices her changing moods and lack of attention, he doesn't comment on it. He merely goes on with the tour with monotonous, perfunctory speech.

There's a constant buzzing in the back of Jim's mind as she watches him out of the corner of her eye. It's like a nagging feeling that she's supposed to be remembering something, but she can't think of what it is. Something about him seems almost—well, she doesn't want to say kindred, but it's a close thing. The feeling seeps through her thoughts like syrup, catching on to each tangent and tangling it all in a sticky web that's no better off than when she began to try and sort it all out.

They run into a few officers from time to time, and Jim picks up a few things from them, just minor impressions of their moods and the like, and she kind of enjoys this newfound talent of hers, even if it is confusing and random.

The strangest thing though, is that when it comes to Harrison, she doesn't get a thing. He is literally like a blank wall.

_Maybe he doesn't have a heart_, Jim thinks amusedly as he continues on with his explanations.

Harrison talks to her like he's talking _at _her. He comes off as a quietly tall man with severely intense eyes, and unreadable body language that's so carefully militant that Jim's never seen anything like it. It makes her wonder so much about him that she fails to notice they've ended up right back in the Transporter Room.

Jim curls her fingers around her hips as Harrison stands before her with a calculating stare and a neutral expression. She says, "I can't tell you when my Chief Engineer will be back from his honeymoon, but I can tell you that he'll want a proper tour as well. He loves this girl as much as I do—so just be sure to accommodate him and his questioning."

Harrison says nothing as he gazes at her, but there's no lack of understanding in his eyes.

"Right. Well. I'll leave you to finish your tinkering," Jim decides as she turns and steps on the transporter pad. She watches as Harrison moves to stand behind the transporter console. "Wait," she says. "Before you send me off. I need to ask you something."

Harrison pauses and pins her with his full attention (which to be honest is a bit intimidating in its own right).

"Do you remember what happened in Vegas?" Jim asks and watches his face for any sign that says that he does. "Because I just—it's all sort of patchy to me. I mean, I remember up till we got to the strip club and then—" …_pain and hands and darkness and you… _"—it just becomes a blur."

Harrison scans her before he says, "Blur, Captain?"

"Yeah—it's just keeps nagging at me. I haven't really felt like myself since that day and I thought maybe something might have happened that could explain why my body is continually feeling like a foreigner to me," Jim rambles before she crosses her arms. "So do you know anything about that day?"

Harrison straightens his shoulders out as he keeps one hand pressed to the console. His eyes glow an electric blue and Jim suddenly feels rooted to the spot, like he's reaching inside of her and she can't resist the pull. "You had a bit too much to drink. You went outside, and when your comrades asked me to retrieve you, I found you in the alley, emptying your stomach against a brick wall. I led you back inside, where you passed out until a cab arrived to take you all back to the hotel," he tells her. "Create those memories now."

Jim does because she can't help it.

"Good. Very good," Harrison praises lowly. "You are a quick study."

Jim nods robotically. "I remember now," she says faintly. "Sometimes I go overboard."

"This case was no different," Harrison encourages. "Now, your body will continue to feel slightly off, but you won't dwell on it. You'll just have to view it as natural, and only talk to me about any type of major changes. Have you felt any so far?"

"Yes."

"Elaborate."

"I—I sometimes feel like I can see better than I ever did. Like I can smell better than I ever did. Like my mind functions better than it ever could," Jim says, compelled to be honest with him. "Things slow down for me sometimes when I want. And my feelings are stronger than normal. Also I keep getting impressions from people—like I can read their emotions or thoughts."

Harrison smirks. "You certainly are a quick study," he approves. "That's all good. Continue to allow your body to complete the final product of its work. No one else must notice these changes, not even your precious Commander, so be very careful to conceal it unless it cannot be avoided. If it cannot, act none the wiser and don't be too questioning. You may only trust me with this information." Just as quickly as before, his eyes resume their normal color. "I hope that answers your question."

Jim blinks and she looks at him like nothing even happened. "Yes. Thank you," she replies normally, unaware of the moment before.

Harrison nods curtly, satisfied, and his eyes never leave her face as she's swallowed up in a cycle of white light.

Jim materializes on the transporter room on the space dock, and she nods briefly to the two officers working behind the console on the other side of the room. She gets on a shuttle and returns to Earth, walking back to Spock's apartment complex under an orange sky. When she turns on her communicator, she sees she has a lot of missed calls and notifications.

Spock's condo is empty when she arrives, but it's no surprise since she knows that he has about two more lectures before he finds his way home to her. That gives her a good four hours to convince herself into having a talk with Spock about whatever they need to talk about.

Before she makes dinner, she sits in his living room, turns on the flat screen TV, and flicks through all the channels until she comes to a very old but classic romance story. The movie ends up not being so bad, and she cries her way through most of it (surprisingly). When it's over, she tucks away in the kitchen and pulls up a recipe of a Vulcan roast. It's easy enough to throw together (Spock has most of the ingredients stockpiled in his kitchen already), but like most Vulcan dishes, it takes a while to cook. So she sets the glass pot in the oven (putting on a timer) and leaves to go take a shower and put on some sleep wear (which includes some royal blue/silver plaid pajama shorts and a white t-shirt).

Jim's lounging upside down on the couch with a jar of apple cinnamon peanut butter and a spoon when Spock returns. She waves at him, smiling around the spoon in her mouth as he approaches her with a quirked brow. She swallows the small gob of peanut butter in her mouth and says, "How was work?"

Spock removes his uniform jacket and sets down his PADD before replying, "Insipid."

"Anything…_interesting _happen?" Jim carefully asks as she watches him go into the kitchen and he opens the stove so he can investigate the source of the smell he no doubt detected as soon as he stepped in.

"Nothing of particular note," Spock murmurs as he closes the oven door and moves to join her on the couch.

Jim hums thoughtfully before she pulls herself upright and settles in his lap, curling the fingers of her right hand in the hair at the base of the back of his neck. "So I have to talk to you about something," she mutters.

Spock curves his hand over her bare thigh while the other slides under her shirt and presses to the skin of her lower back with distracting heat. He gives her his full attention.

Jim pushes away the urge to kiss him enough to focus on the issue at hand. She says, "This is a little embarrassing for me to even bring up but I just—I really don't want there to be any misunderstanding between us." She pauses as her cheeks start to heat. "God, I can't believe I'm going to say this," she grumbles before she exhales. "So, earlier I stopped by and, um, I brought you a lunch because I wanted to surprise you. But when I got there, you were already wrapping up with Cadet Kalomi and I just…" She trails off and fidgets. "I was _jealous, _okay? And very bothered that she was even—

"Jim," Spock says calmly.

Jim continues, ignoring him and way too caught up in trying to explain away her embarrassment. "—that you two had lunch and it was just basically _lunch _but I still couldn't stand the thought tha—"

"Jim."

"—but I know it's ridiculous because I do trust you and everything but—"

"Jim."

"—so sorry but I just really don't like her at _all _and I know she is up to something with you because she is just the type to—"

Spock presses his fingers to her meld points and she stutters off into silence as she feels the familiar yet gentle _push _of his mind joining with hers.

Jim's thoughts are tangled in a frustrated web of—**_guilt, irritation, embarrassment_**—but Spock sinks easily inside, finding his way through to pull her out of the haze and into his mind.

Spock's thoughts aren't like hers. His are calmly organized, meticulous, focused, and so many other things opposite to the way Jim thinks.

She shares her confusion with him through the connection, but he guides her to some moments, recalled memories, instances—

Jim sees herself through his eyes, watches as she interacts with Bones, with their officers on the ship, with Rand, with Prime Spock, and she feels the painstaking discomfort of—**_annoyance, covetousness, unease_**—and she's surprised to realize that it's all Spock.

**_Jim, you are not alone in this. I too have moments where I am prone to envy over you, but I have come to accept that this will be something I shall face many times because it is you._**

Spock takes the time to think about her medical badge tattoo and his honest displeasure with it. He thinks about her candid bikini shots in the media and how he often he calculates how many eyes would have seen them, covet them, and pleasure themselves to them.

Jim feels a flush of embarrassment and guilt and surprise.

_Oh, I—I didn't know. I didn't think—I figured—_

**_Then I am to blame for that as well. I did not want to worry you with my discomfort or inspire feelings of mistrust between us. I trust you, Jim. I would not have you ever believe otherwise._**

Spock thinks about her hands and when she uses them to touch someone else or shake another's in greeting and how he often wishes that she would follow the customs of Vulcans and refrain from making contact with anyone.

**_I am learning to accept these urges as they come. But know that you are not alone._**

_Wow. I—I felt so bad because I don't usually get jealous or upset. But that's because it's never you. When it is you, I just feel—I feel everything I've never really felt before._

The instantaneous spark of pleasure and self-satisfaction Jim feels flow through him to her makes her smile and inspires in her joy and relief. Her smile widens as he presses his warm lips to her, keeping them melded while he sinks his tongue in her mouth with hungry intent and he begins to think of the many ways he would like to touch her. He shares his gratification and contentment in being the only person to ever touch her like this, to kiss her, to have her in any way he pleases.

Jim shivers and her toes curl as she feels a thick cloud of lust form between their minds in a mutual pace. She doesn't hold back as she pushes her desire to have him inside of her to him through their bond. She thinks about how she wants to be on her stomach, him on top of her with his pale fingers curving around her hips, keeping them up as he thrusts in over and over and—

Spock rumbles agreeably as his mind overflows with a heady rush of images—things he wants to try with her—things like pressing himself inside her just _so_, until she's crying out just the way that he enjoys and keeping at it until she doesn't even have a voice to make a sound, utterly wrecked and warn, body reddened with an orgasmic flush and blue eyes dazed with delirious pleasure.

Jim gives a desperate moan, climbing into his lap fully, wrapping her legs around his hips, wanting so bad to let him do whatever he wants, take whatever he wants—_you can have it, all of it, all of me, only you, only you forever, please—_

Spock growls low and deep and hungry in his chest as he sucks a trail down her neck, pressing his fingers hard onto her meld points as he searches out the soft places in her mind, sinking into her pleasure receptors and stroking them until Jim comes with a startled shout, writhing in his lap as her entire body convulses with consumed pleasure that starts as a strong, breathtaking quake between her legs and fans out to every other inch of her, leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake.

"_Spock—_" Jim chokes out a tortured sob as he continues to mentally undo her with a simple manipulation of her pleasure receptors and it's so good, _god, so good_, and she feels her heart pound against the teeth of her ribs as her blood rushes, spinning her into a web of lightheadedness. "_It's too much—please_—" Her hips jumps as he pries one final orgasm from her body, and she almost whites out at the intensity but he retreats before she can even get the chance to.

Spock makes a satisfied sound as sucks and bites her quivering mouth, the sound turning a bit desperate when he finds how easy it is to sink his tongue in her pliant and soft mouth as she just lets him, still coming down from the high of her orgasms.

Jim shudders against his lips as she clumsily yanks off his belt and pries open his pants to wrap her fingers around his cock because really, he should have known that she would take this as a personal challenge. She works her fingers over him with clumsy desperation, sucking on his tongue and begging filthy things into his mouth as he writhes under her and into her hand. His face flushes with a pleasured hue of green, and because he keeps them melded, she can feel how close he is—knows just how he wants her to change the angle of her wrist, to pull just like _that_, and he's coming with a low sound, damp forehead pressed into her delicate collarbone with a full body shudder.

Jim milks it from him, running her hand up and down his cock one final time before she pulls her hand away and presses her wet fingers to her lips so that she can taste it. She makes a pleased sound as her middle fingers sink slowly into her mouth, and she coyly catches his darkened eyes when he pulls back to watch her. She keeps eye contact as she licks her hand clean with a small smirk while he recedes from her mind, but not without leaving faint traces of renewing arousal behind.

Spock lowers his hand from her face before he traps her fingers between their mouths, joining his tongue with hers as they lick the spaces between her fingers.

Jim laughs quietly as she drops her hand and kisses him fully while he strokes his hot hands up and down the length of her back. She pulls back and says, "I have to go check the food. I don't want it to burn."

Spock reluctantly relinquishes his hold and follows her with his eyes as she makes her way to the kitchen.

Jim smiles to herself as she washes her hands before turning off the timer just as it's about to sound off, and with the aid of oven mitts, she pulls the glass pot free from the oven, placing it on top. Her smile dampens into a grin as Spock presses in close behind her and sweeps her hair from her freckled neck so that he can place his lips there. She cuts into the roast and tests it, seeming satisfied with the taste before she cocks her head and offers the rest of the bite to him.

Spock graciously accepts, chewing as she licks the seam of his bottom lip where a bit of the gravy fell. He lets Jim herd him out the kitchen and back to the living room with little complaint and a few lingering kisses.

She makes him a plate and delivers it to him before she pours herself a glass of white wine. She drapes herself in his lap on the couch and doesn't feel bad in the least for making him eat around her. She picks up the remote and looks for something to watch, accepting the bites of food that Spock offers to her, and she gives him sips of her wine in return.

They end up watching a Jeopardy marathon and playfully try to out-genius each other in a sort of nerdy flirt-like way.

Spock only wins the last episode because she's being lulled to sleep by his pale fingers massaging her scalp as she rests her head in his lap. She doesn't really stir when he carries her to bed and curls up beside her after he changes into some sleepwear.

Jim dreams that she's standing before a giant white egg. She presses a hand to it and it begins to crack. The yoke starts to seep out at the base and soak between her toes, slowly rising up past her knees, to her thighs and finally to her stomach. A sharp pain starts stabbing into her pelvis, and grows so painful that it feels like a heated butter knife piercing her flesh.

She gasps and sits up, palming at her stomach and thighs because she feels uncomfortably wet. "_Spock,_" she croaks as she lifts her trembling hands, which are coated in blood. "Spock!"

Spock sits up immediately and murmurs, "Lights to seventy percent."

"_Oh God, what is this_?" Jim sobs as she sees all the blood soaking through the sheets and through her pajama shorts. Her shoulders start trembling as her eyes start to burn with tears. "Um—I just—can you drive me to the hospital?"

"Jim, would it not be better to request an ambulance?" Spock asks with shaky calm. He looks a worried as Jim feels, dark eyes roaming over every inch of her.

"No, please—I don't want—don't want the attention. I just—I'll go clean myself up and you can drive me. Spock, _please_," Jim begs as she stumbles out of bed and towards the bathroom. She climbs in the shower and rids herself of the blood, trying in vain not to cry too loudly or let her fear and panic seep through the bond. She sniffs, stepping out of the shower shakily and reaching for a towel as a dull ache of pain throbs in her pelvis making it slightly difficult to walk.

When she returns to the room, Spock is stripping the bed down and Jim winces in embarrassment and quickly puts on some dark purple jogging pants with a matching hoodie before she indicates her readiness to leave. She doesn't refuse Spock's help as he keeps her close and helps her walk to her car. She buckles in as he slides in the driver's seat.

The ride to the hospital is uncomfortably quiet and heavy with tension. It's a short drive, and Jim prays to whatever deity is listening that they weren't followed by any paparazzi, because this is bad enough without all the extra attention and harassment. But since it's so early in the morning (give or take two a.m.), there's none in sight.

Spock parks the car in a lot and helps her walk to the emergency room. She fills out some forms at the registration counter, and the wait to see a doctor, luckily enough, is a very short one.

Jim sits on a biobed in a private room and let them probe at her for blood samples, body temperatures, blood pressure and so forth.

Spock sits quietly in the corner, but he remains watchful of all the nurses and their examination.

Finally the nurses leave with their results and samples, promising that a doctor will be along in only a moment to give a more thorough analysis.

Jim tries her best not to fidget in anticipation in the mean time. She's never really enjoyed being stuck in medical facilities and having tests done her and the like. It's grating and it makes her edgy.

A moment later, a Hindu woman with soft chocolate eyes and very long black hair appears. She looks to be in her mid-thirties and she's got the build of a ballet dancer. She grabs a chair and Jim's virtual chart before she says (in a heavily accented voice), "Hello. My name is Dr. Gupta. I'm the head of the Gynecology and Obstetrics here in this hospital. I see you've come in with some concerns."

Jim just folds her arms across her chest and nods quietly.

"It's okay if you're worried. I know that I would be too," Dr. Gupta assures as she lowers her chocolate eyes to Jim's virtual chart. "Now, I want to ask you some questions, and they may be uncomfortable, but they are important to this situation. Okay?" She glances at Spock and then back. "Is this your partner?"

Jim nods.

"Are you comfortable with having him remain in the room?"

Jim nods again.

"Okay then," Dr. Gupta says with an encouraging smile. "Ms. Kirk—have you had sexual intercourse within the past year?"

Jim nods.

"And of those encounters, how many were unprotected? Be as exact as you can," Dr. Gupta advises as she pulls free a stylus pen from the front pocket of her lab coat before she pulls up a new template in Jim's virtual chart.

"One or two," Jim replies, thinking specifically of Rand and their short relationship.

"Have you had any past diagnoses of sexually transmitted diseases?"

"No."

"Do you frequently practice safe sex?"

"Yes."

"Are you sexually active currently?"

"Yes."

"How many partners have you engaged with in the past year? Be specific as possible."

Jim mentally counts before she says, "Four."

"All human?"

"Three of them, yes."

"And how long have you been with your current partner?"

"We've known each other for a good year, but our relationship started at the beginning of last November. So about two to three months."

"How sexually active have you been within that time period?"

"Two weeks—edging into three, I think."

Dr. Gupta nods, penning it all in her chart. She says, "When was the last time you had a physical?"

Jim thinks for a bit before she says, "Beginning of August, last year."

"Did they notice any strange?"

"Uh—no."

"That's okay, they wouldn't really if they hadn't know what to look for," Dr. Gupta clarifies. "Have you been experiencing any pelvic pain? Frequent? Not frequent?"

"I've had moments in the past, but nothing like this."

Dr. Gupta nods. "I see in your charts that you are a survivor of Tarsus, correct? Your medical history is a bit off-putting. Did you alter your records, Ms. Kirk?"

"Yes," Jim replies and fidgets. She has a keen idea of where this is going.

"Aside from the emotional trauma, were there any physical altercations to your person?"

Jim presses her lips together as her fingers curl into fists over her thighs.

"I know that this may be uncomfortable for you to talk about, but I need to know," Dr. Gupta says in a gentle tone.

Jim exhales as she flicks her gaze over to Spock before she looks everywhere else. "When I was thirteen, and I was about to turn fourteen, I got—my period for the first time," Jim explains quietly. "I didn't know what to do. I didn't have access to any information, and I was at an all boys' camp. I thought that I could just ignore it and hide it, but I wound up with a very nasty infection." She fidgets and swallows. "This is how Kodos discovered I was a girl. And—there was this doctor at the camp. He was—well, you can say that he was very unorthodox. I don't even think he had a real license to practice, but he condoned a lot of the things that Kodos and his colleagues did so he was good enough. Um, he—he examined me and his diagnoses was a very drastic surgery. He told Kodos that it would not only put an end to my menstruation problem, but it would also ensure that I could never get pregnant." Her fingers tighten to the point where she can feel her nails biting into the thick skin of her palm. "Suffice to say, he operated on me and—he—removed my an approximate part of uterus. Like I was some kind of dog that needed to be castrated."

Dr. Gupta's mouth slouches in a sad but sympathetic frown. "I am very sorry this happened to you. A procedure such as that is…" she trails off but it's obvious what she wants to say.

Jim refuses to meet Spock's eyes, even though she can feel them burning into the side of her face. "Yeah, well—he committed suicide sometime after that. Shoved one of his scalpels down his throat and choked on his own blood. Guess you can call that karma," she mutters with a weak shrug.

Dr. Gupta looks a little horrified. She quickly schools her features and says, "Well, I received the results from each screening and, though this may be hard to believe, I'll try to explain this the best way that I can. If you can lie back, I'll do an ultrasound so that you may see what I'm describing for yourself." She stands and grabs a circular tricorder, the exact radius of her inner palm.

Jim unzips her hoodie and lies back on the biobed as Dr. Gupta puts the tricorder over her pelvis. On the screen above her head, Jim makes out the pinkish hue of her insides, which, quite strangely, kind of looks like—

_But that's impossible, _Jim thinks, almost frantically as her eyes dart across the chart. But there's no mistaking it—she has a fully restored womb. _Dear God, that's impossible._

"I know what you must be thinking, Ms. Kirk," Dr. Gupta says, chocolate eyes still pinned to her biofunction monitor. "But as I said. I'll try to explain this the best way I can." She then goes on to say, "There appears to be a sort of thin, mucus-like plasma—though most of it perished after its work was completed—but it seems to have manifested itself inside of you. Now, I'm still unsure of the specifics, but I'm guessing that it's managed to evolve itself within a timeline of nine months. Basically, it's aided your body in healing itself and from what I gathered occurred nine months ago is that you were under the care of a foreign medical facility in a universe parallel to ours. And whatever healing salve they used found it's way to your deepest scar tissue. Now this is where it gets really interesting," she says lowering the tricorder. "The plasma didn't activate entirely until you and your partner copulated because your body recognized his body chemistry as compatible to your genetics which means—"

Jim goes red and places her hands over her face. "My body wants to mate and create offspring," she mutters.

"Exactly," Dr. Gupta says with a rueful tone. "Understand that this is very out of the norm for human biology but it's not completely _abnormal_. And since a foreign substance has been introduced to your chemistry, the general rules have somehow skewed. But don't worry. Your body has mended itself and a new uterus formed in place of the damaged one. So because it is so brand new, the lining of your uterus walls were quite thick, which is the reason for the heavy amount of blood. And what I recommend is that you don't have sex for at least a period of two weeks, okay? And I'm going to prescribe to you some herbal tea that is going to help your body into this transition of reestablishing your hormones. I'd like to give you a contraceptive, but since everything is brand new down there, I want to wait at least six months before we disrupt the natural timing of your ovulation and menstrual cycle."

Jim wants to die. This is so embarrassing and weird and absolutely crazy. Actually, this is probably the craziest thing that's ever happened to her.

"Ms. Kirk, I understand that you are a captain, but if you have someone who is trained in gynecology and the like on your ship, then I fully advise you to utilize their expertise. And outside of that, I recommend that you and your partner keep a careful log of your cycles, and pay attention to any complications that may arise. I only say this because I suspect that you'll be very fertile without the aid of a contraception, and I wouldn't want you two to be caught by any surprises. With that being said, I also encourage sexual interaction between you two because his hormones may be just what you need in becoming regular and inducing the amount of hormones that your body needs."

Jim drops her hands and nods quietly.

"So protection is still good to bear in mind," Dr. Gupta advises. "Rest assured, you are healthy and completely fine, despite this extraordinary phenomena. And it may also be good for you to know that toiletries such as tampons and pads are available for free in all stores. We can thank the gods, as well as the rise of feminism for that one, yes?"

Jim snorts but she nods and sits up, zipping her hoodie.

Dr. Gupta scribbles something out on her virtual chart. "I just sent the prescription to the pharmacy we have here in the hospital. The amount is enough to last you for the next six months. I only advise you to drink a cup each day you are on your menstrual cycle, every month, okay? And you must drink it several degrees over Earth room temperature or the effect will be void. It will help with the nausea, the headaches, the pelvic pain, and also it will keep your lining from thickening which in turn is the primary reasoning for abdominal pain and blood loss. It should also maintain your iron levels, so you won't have to take a supplement, okay?"

Jim folds her arms and nods again.

"Do you have any questions for me? I'll be sure to put everything we discussed in your medical files so that your future doctors will be aware of the situation and better aid you when you and your partner do decide that you want children," Dr. Gupta says as she sends Jim and Spock a friendly smile.

"Could you not include the story I told you about when I was on Tarsus?" Jim asks, uncomfortably. "I just would rather explain that myself if need be. I don't want it on record—which is why I took it out the first time."

"Yes, of course, Ms. Kirk. I will not put that in," Dr. Gupta promises. "You two have a good night." She leaves.

Jim lets out a breath of air she didn't even know she was holding as she slides to the edge of the biobed. She doesn't look up when she hears Spock's approach, and her eyes close with a sigh as his hot hands cup her jaw.

Spock tilts her head up gently before he touches his forehead to hers.

"This was mortifying," Jim murmurs as she curls her fingers over his wrists. She takes a moment to just breathe with him as the room buzzes and whirrs around them.

"I am relieved," Spock says quietly. "I feared that you might be afflicted with an ailment far more severe."

Jim takes a moment to really consider that and she thinks about how she must have looked when she sat in a good amount of her own blood, awaking him to the sight of her pale face staring mortified at her trembling, bloodied hands. Beneath his calm veneer, he might have really been worried.

"I scared myself," Jim admits as she looks up at him. "This whole thing is just—" She doesn't even have the right words but she hopes he understands. "I always meant to tell you about that. I didn't want you to find out about it this way. It's—one of my darkest secrets of my past and I could never say it and, I guess I was worried about what you would think. I didn't want you to pity me, because I spent a long time pitying myself." She sighs shakily. "Do you even want kids?"

Spock strokes his thumb over her left cheek as he grows thoughtfully silent. He says, "I have no want for them currently." He lifts his gaze and meets her eye. "However, I am not opposed to having them with you. Perhaps, someday."

Jim's cheeks grow a little pink and she ducks her head shyly. "God, I just—I never thought that I could ever—that it was even a possibility and now—well, now," she says. "Now we actually have to think about it and be mindful and—I just, wow."

"Indeed," Spock murmurs and he kisses the corner of her mouth before he straightens. "We should return home so that you may rest. I will excuse myself from work so that I can remain with you."

Jim slips off the biobed and onto her feet as she smiles. "You would miss an entire day of classes for me?" she teases as she pulls on his belt loops.

Spock's lip twitches and his eyes warm with his amusement. "Jim, you need not question it. I would gladly delay several years of my life to devote to you my full attention."

Jim flushes brightly and she drops her forehead onto his shoulder. "Sap," she mutters before she brushes her fingers against his in a quick Vulcan kiss. "Come on. Let's go get my stupid herbal tea and figure out how I'm going to stomach it."

When they get back to the apartment, and they camp out in the living room in front of the fireplace with a chessboard between them, Spock comes up with a genius idea. He suggests that maybe Jim can be eased into drinking hot tea by rewarding each sip with a piece of her favorite chocolate.

Jim struggles with the first three sips, but it gets easier when she's halfway through her mug, and her uterus feels less like it's trying to kill itself. She's not even going to get into the whole tampon business because that was an uncomfortable journey she doesn't look forward to in the future (though it does keep all that stupid blood at bay and she doesn't have to bleed over everything).

_Bleh._

Jim finds it all strange, and it's hard to wrap her head around (like, she has a functioning uterus now). She pushes her nagging feelings of concern aside to tell Spock about what happened to the Enterprise, and the grating tour she forced Harrison to give her. She leaves the part about the warp core and the injectors for last because, though she doesn't much like Harrison, she had to admit that that aspect had been pretty awesome.

Spock aims questions her way concerning that (attesting to the fact that he finds it highly impressive and _fascinating _as well) and she tries to answer them all the best she can with the limited information she has about it all.

She falls in and out of asleep with an empty mug in her left hand and a piece of chocolate in her mouth while she and Spock wrap up their seventh consecutive chess game. She's won like four of them.

The sun shines bright in the early morning sky and Spock pulls her close, covering them in a blanket and stroking his fingers through her hair as he murmurs words of praise against her temple in Vulcan.

Jim thinks she might have smiled the whole time, but she's too deep in her exhaustion to be sure.

888

A week before the Enterprise sets sail for the stars, Bones invites Jim to lunch.

Jim barely has time to sit in the booth with him before impressions of irritation and confusion barricade her.

Bones says, "They're dead, Jim."

Jim blinks and lifts both her eyebrows. "Well, hello to you too. I've missed you and I hope you've enjoyed yourself in New York," she says.

Bones scowls and leans forward as his hazel eyes darken. "This is no time for your sarcasm," he gripes. "They are _dead_."

"Um, I would probably show more concern if I knew who _they _were," Jim carefully points out as she flips open a menu.

Bones leans back and mutters something unpleasant before he clarifies, "You remember that conversation we had back in August when I told you that a good portion of the officers assigned to your ship between the months of March and May wound up pregnant?"

Jim nods with a growing frown.

"Well, it's just the darnedest thing," Bones continues lowly. "I took it upon myself to double check the numbers and see how all those new parents were doing, only to find out that every single one of them are _dead_."

Jim stares at Bones in surprise, trying to digest this information. "I'm sorry—but are you telling me that every single parent is dead?"

Bones shakes his head and Jim feels the edge of his despondency.

"Not the parents. The babies," Jim whispers, shocked. "Every single baby that was conceived on my ship died."

Bones nods resolutely.

Jim blows out a breath of air as she tries to work it out in her mind. "How? In what way?"

"As far as their medical reports dictate, it was from natural causes," Bones states but the confused scowl on his face says he thinks better of it. "Which is irony in itself because what infant dies from _natural causes_?"

Jim makes a sound of agreement.

"All fifteen goddamn babies. Dead. Just like that. Some didn't even make it to their birth, and the ones who did, well, they didn't last more than a week."

"What in the actual fuck, Bones?" Jim says as she looks at him, shaking her head in confounded amazement. "I just can't believe that none of them survived."

Bones doesn't say anything at first. He looks slightly, well, Jim's not sure. She picks up a bit of something that feels like concern and reluctant hope. He says, "Not exactly."

Jim lifts an eyebrow and motions for him to continue.

Bones opens his mouth but a teenaged waiter flocks over to them.

"What can I get for you?" The waiter is a staring at the both of them with eager and admiring eyes.

Jim knows immediately that he must recognize who they are. She quickly orders a turkey burger with a chocolate milkshake while Bones orders their 'world-famous' chili with a tall glass of dark soda.

The waiter scurries away with a promise to return soon. He seems particularly captivated by Bones.

Jim would normally tease the situation, but she's got bigger things on her mind. "What did you mean when you said not exactly?"

"Well," Bones gruffly states. "There is one kid I can think of that's been surviving with flying colors. You know her all too well. She's your goddaughter."

Jim looks at him and says, "Kamaria."

"Got it in one."

Jim finger-combs her blonde bangs out of her eyes as she tries to think. "Not that I'm not ecstatic about it, but why? What makes her so different from all the others?"

"That's what I've been tryin' to figure out for the last two months," Bones confesses.

"Huh. And here I thought you were just spending some quality time with Kenya and Kamaria and Joanna," Jim says, not unkindly, but she still sends him a pointed look.

"You know the saying, _'Killing two birds with one stone'_? Well, same concept," Bones simply says. "Look, Jim—you know how I am. Once I get somethin' in my head, it's hard for me to just let it go. And I didn't say anythin' to Kenya because I didn't need her to worryin'. Jesus, she already smothers that little girl as is." He sighs and shakes his head. "And as far as I can tell, what sets her apart from the rest is the fact that Mitchell was her biological father."

Jim remembers that tidbit of information all too well. "So what does that mean? Did some kind of freaky weird experiment happen on my ship right under my nose without me realizing?"

"I wouldn't go as far as saying somethin' like that, Kid," Bones says as he snorts wryly. "But I don't believe it's all so black and white. Dehner and Mitchell must've been up to somethin' with that. It's just hard for me to understand what that was. There's nothin' out of the ordinary in any of the infants or fetuses medical records, nor did any of the parents describe anythin' abnormal about the conception. If anything, they were just surprised that it happened at all, and even more devastated by the deaths."

Jim knows all too well about bodily surprises, but she doesn't say this out loud. She loves Bones, and he's her best friend—but there are some things she doesn't feel up to sharing with him.

"Kamaria's blood patterns are normal, but it's still too early to really pinpoint much of anything. I'd have to wait until she turns one to really be sure," Bones goes on to say.

The waiter returns with their food before leaving again.

"So, what's new with you?" Bones asks as he crumbles a handful of crackers over his chili before stirring.

"You mean you didn't bring me here to talk about how bizarre things constantly occur on my ship?" Jim teases as she squirts some ketchup over her fries.

"Ha, ha," Bones sarcastically gripes. "I'm bein' serious. You think you can manage that for just a minute?"

"Thirty seconds," Jim retorts and laughs when Bones throws a cracker at her. "No, but um, I'm fine. Everything's all good on my end. Well, besides the whole drama of my ship. Did you know that they completely renovated the Enterprise? It's like ten times bigger now. And everything is so automatic and, ugh, it's weirdly useful. Still, I had to be the last to know. Okay no, I wasn't—Scotty was. You should have seen the tantrum he threw when he and Nyota came back from their honeymoon. It was epic."

"I bet," Bones scoffs with unconcealed amusement. "You happen to take a gander at the medbay?"

"Yeah, and you've got a bigger sandbox and more toys to play around with," Jim replies.

"Goodie," Bones mutters, but he sounds a bit keen on the idea. He lets a few beats of silence pass before he asks, "How's the hobgoblin?"

"_Spock_ is just fine, thanks for asking," Jim corrects, taking another bite of her burger. "I was starting to wonder if you'd ask."

"I'm adapting to the concept."

"Oh, yeah? Well I certainly appreciate it."

"Don't be cute."

"I'm way too sexy to ever pull that off. And also, what I would actually like to see is you and him sitting down for a meal or a get-together and being civil. I mean, you can't avoid him forever and he can't avoid you. If so, I'll just have to avoid _both _of you until you pull your heads out of your asses and get over everything."

"He hit you, Jim. I don't think I'll ever get over that."

Jim winces as she recalls. "Look, I know. I get it. I do. But please, for my sake, can you try and see past that?"

"No promises," Bones says, merely. "I'll—_try_."

"That's all I ask," Jim quickly assures before she lets the subject die. She shoves a few French fries in her mouth before she says, "So it's my understanding that since the Enterprise has grown in size, so will my crew. I'm screening a lot of people with Spock and Rand to be absolutely sure that we only have sane, professional, and qualified officers. I was thinking that you wouldn't be against picking out your own staff. Don't tell Chapel, but I've been considering petitioning Admiral Barnett for her promotion. That way she can act as your second in command, and you would only need about one more person to be third, and also a new Head Nurse."

"God in heaven," Bones mutters after he swallows. "That woman already gives me a hard time, questioning all my decisions. She'll really think much of herself after she gets promoted."

Jim laughs a little.

"But," Bones sighs. "She's good. And I'd be the first to agree that she deserves that promotion." He goes on to say, "I'll let her pick who she wants to take her place as Head Nurse. I already have a buddy in mind that could fill in for our third."

"I'm sure you'll all be an unstoppable triumvirate in the medbay," Jim jokes and Bones sends her a look. "What's this friend's name?"

"M'Benga," Bones says. "Guy really knows his stuff. He's a bit eccentric in some ways, but I figure it takes all kind. He spent some time a few years back on Vulcan doing a medical internship that's particularly hard to get."

"I'm impressed already," Jim says with a small grin.

Bones snorts and chooses not to comment.

Jim pops the last bite of her burger in her mouth before she stirs her melting milkshake. "I got Nyota and Chekov promoted to Lieutenant Commander." She shoves a spoonful of ice-cream in her mouth with a shrug. "They deserve it, you know. They were the only two who hadn't received a promotion after the whole Nero fiasco, which, come on, they played just an important part in that like the rest of us."

Bones nods in agreement as he eats his chili.

"So you want to catch a movie after this?" Jim asks as she goes on eating her milkshake. "Unless you're tired of me already."

Bones snorts and rolls his eyes. "You know I could never be tired of you, sweetheart," he drawls. "So, sure. I've got nothin' else going on today. Why not?"

"That's the spirit," Jim cheers and flags the waiter for the check.

After they find themselves a movie theater, and after a long debate (which Jim wins because she always wins), they attend a special classic screening of Pan's Labyrinth.

Bones (the big softie) actually sheds a few tears as the movie winds down into the end.

Well, okay, Jim can't really tease him because she's kind of bawling like a baby too. So they're practically sharing a handful of napkins between them as they exit the theater and go to Jim's car. While she's pulling out of a parking spot, she gets the bright idea to head back to the Academy and sneak into one of Spock's lectures.

Bones grumbles as they climb up a few aisles and sit in the middle section between a group of cadets that kind of freak at the sight of Jim.

Jim kind of has Bones glare at them until they're not making a scene anymore. She doesn't want Spock to catch on that she and Bones are there.

Bones folds his arms across his chest unhappily as he watches all the other cadets file into the room and fill up the classroom.

Jim knocks her elbow into his side as she checks all her notifications on her communicator. It's late in the evening and she knows that this is Spock's last class for the day. She just really wants to see him in action.

Bones mutters about how he doesn't understand why he was forced to come.

Jim merely snickers and informs him that it's for extra entertainment value. Her smile widens when his scowl deepens. She hunches down low in her seat and puts her feet up on the back of the seat in front of her.

The bell chimes at the very moment Spock wanders into the room. He uses a clicker to direct the cadets' attention to the interactive whiteboards. He has a particular equation up followed by a diagram that Jim immediately identifies as 'Compton Scattering'.

Spock asks someone to identify the equation and the coinciding diagram on the board.

It takes ten minutes before any cadet can correctly put a name to it, and Jim barely manages to not shout out the answer herself.

Spock explains, "Arthur H. Compton observed the scattering of x-rays from electrons in a carbon target and found scattered x-rays with a longer wavelength than those incident upon the target. The shift of the wavelength increased with scattering angle according to the Compton formula." He indicates with one hand to the equation on the whiteboard.

Bones mutters lowly, "I can feel a headache coming on already."

Jim rolls her eyes as she shushes him and leans forward.

"Compton treated the x-ray photons as particles and applied conservation of energy and conservation of momentum to the collision of a photon with a stationary electron," Spock continues and uses a clicker to show a various array of equations and diagrams. "Using the Planck relationship and the relativistic energy expression, conservation of energy takes this form," he pauses to indicate to the equation.

All the cadets are listening attentively as they take notes.

Jim crosses her legs and leans against her armrest as she props her chin in her hand.

"Conservation of momentum requires—" Spock pauses again to indicate to the equation. "—where p=E/c is used for the photon momentum." He tucks his hands behind him as his dark eyes glance about the room and he asks, "Should we square this equation using the scalar product, what would be given?"

There is utter and complete silence, and all the cadets avoid his eyes as they shift nervously in their seats.

"Perhaps I should assign a research project that would better familiarize you with this concept," Spock neutrally reasons.

The cadets groan and begin to protest.

Jim smiles, and because she feels sorry for them, she says, "It can be fairly frustrating if you don't decide which variables you want to keep and which you need to eliminate."

Everyone turns and looks at her.

Spock expression remains neutral as his dark eyes pin her to her seat. "Please elaborate," he instructs.

Jim tries to reign in the urge to preen under his gaze as she says, "Well. Our goal is to solve the conservation of energy by continuing the equation. The only way we can do that is by squaring and calculating the previous components, and that's going to get quite lengthy. We'd have to write out the squares on the right side before we could remove the things that appear on both sides, and relatively we'd end up grouping it all since in our fine units, we apply the speed of light to make the units come out to be an equitable length. Ultimately, what it all means is that we would need to eliminate the slashed zero using the energy equation and computing the volatile aspects of the equation. If the photons were from nuclear decay and were of high enough energy that it didn't matter that the electrons were actually bound in atoms, then it would be smarter to derive the formula for the wavelength of the scattered photon as a function of angle. And the only way to know for sure is to have an indication of what came before the collision and what came after. So basically what I'm trying to say is that the question you asked earlier was actually a trick question."

Spock inclines his head as his lips twitch. "You are, of course, correct," he concedes before he continues on with his lecture.

The cadets breathe a sigh of relief when Spock makes no further mention of a research project. He does, however, assign them a fair amount of homework (but they are all smart enough not to complain as they pack up their things and file out of the room).

Bones, the rude jerk, actually _does _fall asleep.

As payback, Jim leaves him there as she descends the aisles and joins Spock at his desk. She leans against it and says, "Now, I don't know about any of those other cadets, but I thoroughly enjoyed that lecture."

Spock's dark eyes speak volumes to his amusement over the situation. He turns his gaze on to Bones. "I see you have persuaded Dr. McCoy to attend as well. Though he does not appear to be as enthralled with my teaching methods," he notes with subtle mirth.

Jim just waves her best friend off with a fond headshake. "Math has never been his thing. I used to have to tutor him from time to time," she explains as she takes off her shoe before she chucks it at him.

Bones startles awake before he scowls at her with red eyes. "You're a goddamn child!" he rebukes as he tosses her shoe back at her.

"Hey, Bones. Didn't I use to have to tutor you?" Jim asks, ignoring his outburst as she wiggles back into her shoe. "You were awful. He was awful."

Bones just glares at them both before he stands and storms off with a curt wave.

Jim laughs and yells, "Awe, come back! I meant that in the best way possible."

Bones doesn't come back.

Jim snorts and shrugs before she turns her attention back to Spock. "I guess we can head home then. You feel like cooking tonight?"

Spock inclines his head before he walks her out of the class with a steadying hand pressed between her shoulder blades.

888

At the stroke of midnight, in the Silver Lake Dog Park of Los Angeles, a dark skinned man paces back and forth under an oak tree, hands wringing together tightly.

"Calm your mind, Doctor," a deep voice drawls. There is a pale figure in the shadows. "You are broadcasting rather loudly there."

The dark skinned man swallows nervously but he ceases his pacing. "You can—read my thoughts?" he asks quietly.

"The concept is not so black and white." The pale figure steps from the shadows. "I've taken the liberty of following your work and research. I must say—I was quite impressed. Rather bold theories."

"Bold, yes," the dark skinned man agrees. "But—I'm growing short on support and funding. Starfleet has better things to do than to listen to the ravings of a misunderstood doctor."

"Ah, but I do," the pale man says, eyes gleaming an electric blue. "I'm in a position to make you indispensable, because I am indispensable."

The dark skinned frowns but jolts in surprise when they begin to hover off the ground and ascend into the trees. He gives a startled yelp and clings to the branch beside his head immediately as he keeps a shaky stance on the branch under his feet. He stares at the man wide-eyed. "How did you—did you—"

"Please, Dr. M'Benga. Don't act so startled. Is this not all the years of your research has led up to? Is this not the results you are aiming for? Genetic perfection."

Dr. M'Benga stares, speechless and hopeful and curious. "Who—who are you?"

The pale man smirks. "You will come to know soon enough. But for now, you may call me John Harrison."

"Harrison," Dr. M'Benga echoes. "What exactly do you want with me?"

"Your mind and your willingness to participate."

"In what?"

Harrison turns his back to him to stare out into the distance. "Admiral Marcus is under the assumption that he has a foothold in the impending war. I do not feel inclined to alter this impression. In truth, it gives me the advantage I need to continue my work." He pauses and cocks his head toward his right shoulder. "I am on the verge of greatness, Doctor. Though I do confess I've hit a few minor bumps. There has been a success."

Dr. M'Benga releases his grip from the tree branch and edges just a bit closer, keeping his balance as best as he can by avoiding looking down. "Success? You mean—there are others like you?"

"In the universe I come from, yes. But here—there are two. One born to it, and the other evolving," Harrison vaguely explains as he turns his head away and continues to scan the area. "There is a child. A female. She is the key to putting all the other chips in place. The other children have, unfortunately, perished. It appears their genetic disposition could not handle the new introduction of hyper-advanced stem cells. But this little girl—she survived. She is strong."

"She is your patient zero," Dr. M'Benga reasons with dawning interest. "And the tests have shown her complete ability to adapt."

"I should believe so. She was born with the original thread of Deoxyribonucleic acid which encoded in her blood cells and remapped the entire genomic sequence," Harrison states listlessly, as though it were all child's play. "And with this sequence, more can be created."

"What a thought," Dr. M'Benga breathes in amazement. All his research swarms into his mind all at once. "You must know that since you have the sequence, I can employ it without fail."

"I did say I followed your research very closely," Harrison remarks with a slight smirk. "But this is not all that I need from you." He turns and faces the Doctor. "There is a woman. Another patient zero of mine, but of a different nature. You may be familiar with the name. Captain James T. Kirk."

"Yes, I—a colleague of mine recently extended an offer to join him on her ship," Dr. M'Benga says with a thoughtful frown.

"Did you accept?" Harrison asks, eyes narrowing with thoughtfulness.

"Well, not exactly. I told him I would have to think about it," Dr. M'Benga admits.

"What is there to think about?" Harrison asks as he begins to probe inside of the Doctor's mind without his knowledge, pulling memories and thoughts to the forefront for information. "This could actually work to our advantage."

Dr. M'Benga looks at him with a questioning frown.

"I need you to keep an eye on her. Record a log of your observations, down to the very detail," Harrison instructs. "She is very precious to the final product of my work. If the success of her body's ability to evolve with my blood in the locus of her genes, then it can be introduced to every officer of Starfleet."

"A perfect army," Dr. M'Benga mutters, mainly to himself as he marvels over the possibility. "How long are you doing this trial run?"

"I believe it should take the equivalent of seven months for her body to cope with my blood. After all, seven is the number of completion. The same can be said of this," Harrison states with that slight smirk. "She has already shown some impressive signs of result. But there is still the threat of unforeseeable consequences."

"I understand, believe me. I'll do my best. But, um, well—do you have a position on the ship?" Dr. M'Benga asks. "I just, well, I figure—wouldn't it be easier for you to follow her progress yourself?"

"There is nothing I would like more," Harrison confesses with a flat drawl. "But I have other affairs I must attend to in the mean time. Loose ends to tie up and all that." His expression darkens slightly. "But rest assured, in six months, I'll be joining the ranks. I'm securing a place for myself as we speak with the aid of a associate of mine."

"What—what exactly—"

"Oh come now, Doctor," Harrison lightly rebukes. "What's the saying? The less you know?"

Dr. M'Benga clamps his lips shut quickly and nods with a nervous swallow.

"Now, I believe you must return home and pack. You'll be climbing aboard the Enterprise in two days," Harrison says and his eyes gleam an electric blue.

Dr. M'Benga makes a small sound as they begin to descend to the ground.

"Apologies," Harrison murmurs with an unconcerned frown. "I realize how startling my abilities can be."

"How—how do you conceal it?" Dr. M'Benga asks as he presses a hand to his rapidly beating heart. "You make it seem as though it comes to you naturally."

"That's because it does," Harrison merely says. "I was born with my talents. I know how to keep them from manifesting or disrupting the natural balance of nature." He looks thoughtfully at the Doctor. "Keep that in mind while you observe Captain Kirk. She will not know this restraint. It is something only I can teach her."

Dr. M'Benga nods with another nervous swallow.

"Relax," Harrison impassively advises. "With any luck, these traits will not manifest in her until the end of the seventh month trial. By then I will be aboard to help deal with the situation."

Dr. M'Benga's shoulders slouch with minor relief. "This is all very risky, Mr. Harrison. Will we—I mean, we wont get any trouble for this?"

"I have the backing of Fleet Admiral Marcus, and he has the backing of the entire Federation. I doubt we'll be the first under accusation if things fall apart. Though I am quite confident they will not. The upcoming war will provide enough distraction," Harrison simply reasons. "But, there is one last thing I request before I turn all my notes over to you."

Dr. M'Benga wrings his hands as he nods anxiously. "Anything," he promises.

"Your colleague—a Doctor McCoy," Harrison says with a cold expression. "He's been prying his fingers where they do not belong. Now, I admit he is a smart man, perhaps too smart. He's become a sort of liability. I need you to take care of it."

"You want me to kill him?" Dr. M'Benga looks horrified at the concept.

"Make no mistake, Doctor, that if I wanted someone dead, I would deal with the issue myself," Harrison corrects before he turns away and begins walking. "I need you only to throw a wrench in his investigation. Give him a false lead—whatever it takes."

"Oh," Dr. M'Benga says as he watches Harrison disappear in the shadows. "Yes, of course."

* * *

**Author's Note: **_Soon we'll be returning to space with the gang! Yay! But, then again, most of the drama always starts in space. So it's a bittersweet joy. _

_Please review. I do need your feedback to keep going._


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter Five**

Spock is accustomed to Jim's energetic disposition in regards to reclaiming the Enterprise for her own. He can hardly convince her to settle down for sleep the night before they are to board the constitution-class ship. She prefers to fidget beside him as they lay entwined in his sheets, and she speaks with unconcealed excitement of the plans she holds for 'her girl'. Her small and nimble fingers dance across her forehead and along the outer seams of her mouth as white teeth bite into the soft pink of her bottom lip until it blossoms with a swollen red that he is all to familiar with. Her cerulean blue eyes are wide and restless as they flicker from shadow to shadow in the darkness of his room.

He does not try to persuade her to seek rest, knowing that it will only be a vain venture if it is not truly what she desires herself. He instead counts the number of freckles within his line of sight as he listens to the soft tenor of her voice, which is engrossed in a concentrated glee. When he comes to a suitable estimation, he then begins to catalogue other aspects of her physicality that he has come to relish.

Spock is beginning to understand that the avid affection and yearning he holds for Jim is merely predetermining signs of his desire to deepen and strengthen their bond. He believes it is what one would call love. It is fascinating, for it inspires within him gradual alterations in his behavior towards Jim. Where he would once shun the very notion of deep intimacy, he welcomes it.

There were times in the past where Spock held firm to the belief that he would not find, as they say, 'his better half'. Because of his mixed heritage, there often wages an internal war that conflicts his sense of logic and emotion. With Jim, there is no issue. She has become his fixed point, and an aid to finding balance, and understanding how to navigate his reasoning of his mind and his heart. This is something that he once feared only his mother could provide, and when she was lost to the _yonalik tchef_ of Vulcan, his outlook of future content turned grim.

However, as fortune would have it, Jim's stealthy and well-timed introduction into his life brought with it a certainty of hope and peace he thought would only be available to him through his mother's consistency in his life. And though he carries remorse of never relaying to his mother her profound value and worth to him, he finds definite redemption in this front by his strengthening connection with Jim.

Jim, with her unfathomably blue eyes and her rigid sense of right and wrong that often leads to unadvisable acts of heroism which shrinks her value of her own self-preservation in an attempt to save everyone and everything outside of her reach.

Jim, with her sincere compassion, and complex sense of humor that allows her to relate to cultures unlike her own and inspire a sense of companionship in others.

Jim, with her self-confident mannerisms and slightly spoiled behavior, which can just as quickly (with the right gesture or phrase) dull down into burgeoning timidity with watchful moments of mildness.

With Nyota, he could never be confident if they were a reasonable match. She sought from him things he could not give and he expected of her things that were not practical.

Now, as he lay by Jim and listens to her spin worshipful odes to the Enterprise, he realizes that it should have never been about reasoning or certainty. True companionship relies on the natural entanglement of two individuals who form together to become one in every aspect.

Spock cherishes his time with her, knowing from unkind experience that time can be taken as quickly as the ones you hold dear. His mother often would look at him and his father with a face full of love and pride and sadness, saying how cruel it was that one could love something so dearly that death can touch. He had not comprehended the meaning of the statement then, but the implication is certainly not lost to him now.

Spock understands that there will come a time in the near future, when he and Jim are ascended into the years of old age, that he may have to find a way to accept that there is a keen possibility he will outlive Jim. He holds no love for this fact, but it remains as such—a fact.

This fact urges in him waves of protectiveness, and the will to offer Jim the security she deserves and need. She is as much a part of him as he is of her. He cannot foresee a future where she is not in the very midst of it, nor would he want to.

As the sun rises and pierces through the cracks of his blinds with orange beams of light, Jim turns to him with thoughtful blue eyes and her mouth twists with curious contemplation before she asks, "What are you thinking about?"

Spock is considering the appropriate method of which to ask her to allow him the pleasure to finalize their bond on New Vulcan and, if she should wish it, perhaps follow through a short time later with a traditional Terran wedding. He does not say this; it is neither the correct place nor time. Instead, he says, "I am contemplating the time."

Jim hums thoughtfully as she twists her upper body and turns her head to glance at the clock that rests on the nightstand. "Time to get up, I guess," she supposes with a quiet voice. She turns back to him and smiles coyly. "We didn't sleep at all. Of course, that's because I didn't want to, and you decided to just stay awake with me," she says with a tone that is vaguely apologetic. She touches the tip of his nose before she reaches further for his the tip of his ear, her cool fingers curling gently and stroking the outer edge.

Spock relaxes under the touch, and returns the gesture by coiling his fingers in her soft hair. He presses his nose to her scalp and inhales the soft scent of orange citrus and sunlight. He is quickly growing a preference for it, he finds. Though, it is rather unfortunate that the dyed strand of hair residing just behind her left ear has faded to its normal state of golden yellow. It does not unnerve him entirely; he has no firm want to see Jim's hair any other way than it already is, so long as it remains down within his company and his company alone.

Jim shifts up and presses her mouth to his, her hair falling into her face and brushing his cheek like a golden curtain. Her lashes flutter against her pink cheeks and her small fingers slide down to curl around the sides of his neck. She stamps another kiss on his bottom lip and the corner of his mouth with a lingering firmness that echoes the affection reflected in her blue eyes when she looks at him, wide and watchful and salient.

This kiss is short and brief, but no less satisfying. It leaves a lasting want in its wake that unfurls a mounting hunger within him. His fingers coil along her wrists and he closes his eyes against the light kiss she presses to the corner of his left eye. The inside of her wrist is soft, delicate, and he can feel her pulse through her skin, as well as the twinges of—_**delight, yearning, equanimity**_—being imparted to him within the extrasensory nerves of his palms.

When Jim pulls back, Spock takes the liberty of tucking her hair behind her ears so that his view of her bright smile may not be obstructed.

"You know," Jim says as she drops her hands to his chest and keeps her blue eyes pinned to them. "When I was fourteen, and I'd just come back from Tarsus—my hair was about this long." She uses her hands to indicate above her shoulders. "I thought a lot about what I was going to do with my life. I thought maybe I could dye my hair black. Move to Florida. Be someone new. Different. Start over."

Spock watches her closely but he detects no indication of sadness on her comely face.

"I was gonna call myself Barbara," Jim admits with a laugh and she shakes her head as she looks down with a nostalgic smile. "After Tarsus, I just wanted to be someone new. And Barbara sounds like a woman who never had any of the horrible shit happen to her like it happened to me. I was going to surf and maybe open up a bar. I'd get lip piercings and cut my hair shorter and get tattoos and be a badass. I would live in the heart of Miami and everyone would know me by name. I'd be Barbs for short. Crazy Barbs. The beautiful, reckless girl."

Spock visualizes her words in his mind. He imagines this life for her, and he considers where he might have been at the time. He calculates the distance that would have been between them, and he reasons that the chances of them ever encountering one another would be in the low seven point twenty-three percentile.

"Pike always said he never planned on coming to that bar where he found me," Jim goes on to say as she lifts her blue eyes to meet his. "He met my father there when he was in a bit of a dive. He said that my dad saw how low he was. Saw that he lost all his reason to live. Actually, Pike had planned on killing himself that night, but my father sat down at his table and talked to him. Just talked to him, you know. Kept him company. And when the sun came up and my dad was getting ready to drive out to California with Winona, he invited Pike." She pauses with a thoughtful face. "They enlisted together. And sometimes I think—what are the chances? If my dad hadn't told Pike that life was worth giving another chance, he wouldn't have bothered. Then who would've recruited me, right?"

Spock allows her to grab his right hand and hug it to her chest.

"Would I have really been happy as Barbara? Would a less than ordinary life been enough for me?" Jim asks before she shrugs. "I don't know, Spock. But whatever crazy plans the universe has for me, I'm glad that despite everything, I ended up right here. Right with you. And I don't know a lot about love or anything so deep, but I—I sometimes wish I could go back in time to that fourteen year old girl with the short hair and small dreams, and tell her that the universe is big and full and ready. And that there is so much more. " She exhales and shakes her head. "Wow. Um. Sorry—I don't know why I'm saying all this. I had a point maybe, I don't know. Probably lack of sleep."

"You have no cause to apologize," Spock assures and strokes his thumb along her collarbone. "I find these candid qualities of you enthralling."

Jim smiles and ducks her head shyly. "Do you ever consider things like that? Like, what if, I don't know, things had been different for you. What if, you went a different way?"

"There are moments when I contemplate a life lived elsewhere," Spock confesses. "In my youth, I heard of a circuit which traveled to the deep pockets of space in search of untilled planets. I imagined joining such a venture as to begin again and find acceptance among unlettered civilizations. Other times, in more difficult circumstances, I imagined operating as a nomadic scholar, conveying interchangeable wisdom and knowledge to uncultivated species when I came of age. But ultimately, I did not." He studies Jim's face. "It was upon my mother's suggestion that I enlisted to Starfleet and became an instructor. She reasoned I would find what I was searching for."

Jim rubs the back of her right hand against her mouth, hiding it from view as a slow blush takes over her face. She mumbles, "Um, well—did you?"

Spock gives a deliberate pause, appreciating the way Jim's flush deepens with each passing second as she fidgets under his watchful gaze. "I believe I have," he finally says.

Jim attempts to hide her pleased smile into his knuckles, her cool lips gently grazing his skin and he feels an answering thrum of clemency to her evident self-satisfaction.

Spock watches as she climbs to her feet on the bed and begins bouncing excitedly.

"Today is the day!" Jim sings with a breathless laugh. The ends of her yellow hair swaying all around her as her tank top rises and falls against the push and pull of gravity. "We get to go on my ship and sail the stars and discover new worlds and new cultures and I sincerely hope we don't die in the process or screw the universe since we'll be violating the Prime Directive!"

Spock is amused by her display of eagerness. He watches the way her elbows poke out and her fingers clench tightly as she bounces and bounces and bounces. He keeps his place on the bed steady by lying on his back and lacing his fingers over his stomach, ignoring the way his body jolts with every jump she gives. His eyes dip down to the curve of her hips and he drinks in the sight of her bare legs and the animatedly red and blue of her underwear, which, as she turns and presents him with her back, has the symbol of an 'S' inside the shape of a diamond.

Jim had explained, upon his request, that the underwear was reminiscent of the colors and style of a comic book hero named Superman.

Spock had dismissed the illogical origins and impermeable attributes of this fictitious character, but he had silently consented to the fact that Jim wore this particular piece of fabric rather well on her body.

"Who's the best Captain in the whole wide world? _James Tiberius Kirk_," Jim pants to herself as her cheeks turn rosy with her tenacious bouncing. "Oh yeah." Jump. "I'm bad." Jump. "So bad." Jump. "Real bad." Jump. "Sinbad." Jump. "Michael Jackson bad." Jump. "La, la, la, la—hey, where are you going mister?"

Spock has removed himself from bed with the full intention of transporting their items (which they have stored in boxes the previous day) to Jim's car. He explains as much.

Jim slows down her bouncing, but she doesn't completely stop as she squints one eye and peers at him through the other with a disgruntled frown. "No, don't leave. Come jump with me," she urges and lifts her hands so that the tips of her fingers make contact with the ceiling on her next jump.

"Tempting as the offer may be," Spock says as he attempts to locate his grey dress uniform. "I will have to decline."

"You make me sad," Jim pants in that childish way of hers. He is accustomed to such irrational comments when Jim immediately understands that she isn't going to get her way about something. "You're such a mean Vulcan. You just make everyone cry I bet."

Spock says nothing, but he does approach his windows and opens the blinds to the bright sunlight.

Jim mutters lowly as she gives one final jump and lands gracefully on the floor. "Fine. I'm getting ready too. But one day, Spock, one day I will get you to jump in a bed with me."

"I believe I already have," Spock calmly counters. His amusement grows as he listens to the way she sputters at the unexpected to comeback.

Jim finally finds the means to laugh, and she does for quite a while, feeding into Spock's self-satisfaction. "God, just when I think you can't surprise me anymore than you already have," she marvels and smacks his backside as she passes him to go into the bathroom.

Spock hears the unmistakable hiss of the faucet, followed by the jumbled noise of drawers being opened and closed in no exact order. He reasons she's looking for her toothbrush and hairbrush.

After he locates his shoes, he begins taking their things and loading them in Jim's car. By the time he's stored away the last box, and returns to his condo, he catches Jim stuffing a glazed good in her mouth. It takes him only a moment to realize what kind and why she's trying to shove it into her mouth with haste.

"Jim," Spock says, and he cannot hide the disapproval in his tone.

Jim jumps and almost chokes as she notices him standing in the doorway of his guest room. "It's not—it's not what it looks like!" she swears, face turning an intriguing shade of guilty red. She looks down at the remainder of the pastry in her hand and tucks it behind her, as if the mere concealment will be enough for Spock to forget.

"Why do you insist on digesting things that are harmful to you?" Spock questions as he moves into the room, unsurprised when Jim takes a nervous step back. She must realize that he intends to take it from her.

"You don't understand," Jim whines. "Just because I'm allergic to it, doesn't mean that it automatically tastes like utter garbage." She presses a hand to his chest in an attempt to stop him in his tracks as he closes in on her. "Besides, I've been doing this for days and, well, and it hasn't like hurt me or anything. I haven't even got hives!"

Spock pauses at that. The statement is peculiar. He takes a moment to observe her person with intent calculation and, from what can be seen, she is correct. Her skin remains unblemished of inflammation and hives. It brings about a whole line of questioning in Spock, and he wonders if what she's eating is not artificial. How else could he explain her lack of bodily reaction to the fruit glaze?

Jim seems to sense or see the thoughtful shift in his expression, because she then uses that advantage to jam the rest of the pastry into her mouth. She sucks the glaze off her fingers, and Spock tries not to let that distract him from the issue at hand. "Maybe I stopped being allergic to strawberry. Or the company that made it is really crappy at desserts," she reasons.

"Perhaps," Spock quietly agrees. He files away this moment for later assessment, and instead focuses on ushering Jim out the building and into her car.

They make it to Starfleet's hangar bay with time to spare.

Spock utilizes this time with Jim by skimming through the crew manifest and determining what quantity of officers have already checked in and which have not. It is still early in the day, and Spock reasons the number will increase by nightfall.

Jim appears to be anxious in the meantime. She climbs aboard a shuttle with him and fidgets in her seat as they ascend past the upper stratosphere of Earth with an altitude surpassing the fifty-kilometer mark.

Once they make dock, Spock matches Jim's hurried pace, all the while studying with intrigue the apparent dimensional changes to the USS Enterprise. It is much like Jim claimed, excusing her excessive and often exaggerating terms, to the detail. It has amassed from the size of Constitution-class to Dreadnought-class—roughly two times the size of its original size. Surely a ship of this design must be of a new order, and therefore it stands to reason that it is most likely an experimental strategy. This makes Spock slightly wary and questioning of Fleet Admiral Marcus's ultimate intentions. For what true purpose is the necessity of all Starfleet vessels to meet these specific modifications? The engineering speaks more to the utilization of weaponry and tactics than survey assignments and ambassadorial missions.

Spock also gathers that it is an intimidation ploy. For what rational civilization can refuse a proposal of union and peace if the hand that extends the olive branch also wields a weapon unlike anything they can possibly match? He does not like it, and it inspires him to more thoroughly investigate the blueprints of the ship. He may find something of interest there, or if at best, discover anything that should be a cause for concern.

Jim and Spock beam aboard the ship and she leads him down to the main engineering room where she presumes Chief Engineer Scott resides.

They do, indeed, find him aiming obscenities at both his Roylan companion and the main console of the engine's computer system.

Spock is familiar with the eccentric Engineer's colorful use of language and unique approach to maintaining the ship to its utmost capability. Long ago, he had been unsure of Jim's choice, but as time came and went, he began to recognize Mr. Scott as a man ahead of most in his field and indispensable. Although, he might have known this to be true outside of his own opinion for the reason that he is acutely aware Jim harbors firm instincts when it comes to the capability of an individual's skills.

Keenser, being the first to notice their arrival, taps Mr. Scott and redirects his attention.

Mr. Scott's face twists into something more lively and excited, eyes warming with his joy at the sight of them. "Aye, Commander! Captain! Lovely to see you about. I was just going through the loading process, you know, running it all through so we would be amped to go, but I cannae for the life of me understand why I keep hitting virtual roadblocks in the computer."

Keenser looks up at him and Mr. Scott appears to translate this as an opinion.

"Ah, get on you! I know! I _know_!" Mr. Scott exclaims, face growing red with his exuberance. "Our lovely lass has been equipped with additional technologically-advanced features including better shielding, more advanced transporters, and enhanced warp capabilities. But my problem is that the option of manual power has been taken from us. Now that's a right concern, isn't it! And that Harrison's being a clever bastard about it. He's got it all encoded! Can you believe that? Like I'm no better than a thief climbing between an old married couple while they're asleep!"

Spock feels his brow lift at the curious metaphor, though something pleasant unfurls in his gut at the sound of Jim's amused laughter.

"Now I'm no thief, Captain, but I can tell you that I like to know what I'm working with. So I've been trying my very best to infiltrate all those little codes but I'm a man of mechanism, not technology! Also, I don't so much mind that I have to say aloud what it is I want and have the computer comply because that is a good beautiful trick," Mr. Scott commends. "But again, in case if I ever should need it, I should be able to know how I can convert the auto power to manual power."

"Scotty," Jim says as she tries to settle down her laughter. "I totally get what you're saying and you are right. Have you talked to Harrison though? He should have given you all the encryptions."

Mr. Scott looks sheepish. "Aye, well, you see," he begins as he rubs the back of his neck with oily fingers. "He did, but it's like trying to determine up from down when you've never had a sense of gravity! I cannae make anything of it. Well, I suppose I could if I really try but I'd need someone who knew the know how to have a basis to learn from."

Jim folds her arms across her chest with a thoughtful frown. Her blue eyes sharpen with contemplation and she says, "Chekov is your best bet. He could shadow you."

Mr. Scott makes a face of uncertainty but he doesn't entirely dismiss the idea altogether.

Spock adds, "Mr. Chekov is knowledgeable in itinerant encryptions. I believe he may provide you with the aid you seek. It may also be beneficial to his education. I am to understand that you have listed him as your second."

Mr. Scott nods agreeably. "Right you are, Commander. I almost forgot," he says. He perks up with an optimistic grin. "I suppose that settles that then. You send him my way and I'll make a fine Engineer of him yet."

Jim claps Mr. Scott on his shoulder with a grin. "I know you won't let us down. Just be easy on Pasha, okay? He's a little genius but his body doesn't have much dimension."

"You leave him with me and I'll return your boy as a man," Mr. Scott promises. His posture straightens with pride and he seems undeniably pleased that he warrants another vigorous laugh from Jim.

Spock notes that like all other members of their crew, they approach and interact with Jim with a level of fidelity and enthusiasm.

Perhaps the most appealing aspect of Jim's character is the fact that she is not wholly aware of the amount of faith and loyalty she inspires in others.

Spock watches quietly as Mr. Scott bolsters his words and his movements under his captain's fixed attention, all too pleased that she is taking his words to heart. It also does not slip his notice when Keenser straightens with delighting respect when Jim touches her hand to his shoulder briefly, merely to acknowledge him with a grateful smile.

Jim excuses herself and returns to Spock's side so they can travel up to medbay.

Upon arrival, Spock takes in the newly furnished and largely built medical ward. The space is of peak use at the moment, since every junior rank officer is occupying the floor, standing in queue for his or her routine physical.

Doctor McCoy can be heard from the doorway of his office, barking orders to his staff with a grimly resolute frown. Despite the nature of his expression, the manner in which he delivers his demands borders an intrinsic simplicity that Spock finds marginally significant to his nature.

Jim strides forward with her usual confidence, not intimidated by the hostile scowl Doctor McCoy sends to all who approach him.

Spock remains in the doorway of the medbay, hands tucked behind him and shoulders in a straight line. He takes a moment to observe the occupants of the area and study the ways in which human interaction serves its purposes in these events. He doesn't quite consider himself unfamiliar to these exchanges, but he recognizes that there are many things he has yet to understand.

Vulcans have the ability to diagnose their own health, whereas humans require the aid of a physician. They are also prone to certain illnesses such as pneumonia and the flu.

Spock cannot recall a time when he had such a thing. But he does recall the moments when his mother had. Even after a number of years, her 'common colds' still had the ability to worry him, and were the first encounters he had ever had in terms of human frailty. He understands that they are susceptible to many things. This is why he is careful to catalogue Jim's health, which often will include her dietary intake. With recent success, he has managed to help Jim regulate her food consumption, and normalize her sleeping patterns to the standard sequence of eight hours a night.

"Commander Spock?"

Spock directs his gaze to the dark skinned male approaching him. He is instantly startled by the solid perspicacity of fluctuating anxiety and thick eagerness that barricades his shields as the dark skinned officer draws closer. Spock quickly attempts to stabilize his shields and numb his awareness of the man, but in doing so, he is forced to dull his senses greatly.

Peculiar.

"Sorry. I—I hope I didn't startle you. Well, I know that Vulcans do not, um—actually I've been told that I have a strong empathic nature and I often broadcast what I'm thinking or feeling without realizing it—so please, um, please excuse anything you may pick up and just let me know if it becomes too much," he says. He has on black-framed glasses, and he shifts them nervously. "My name is Jabilo M'Benga, but you may call me Dr. M'Benga. I have been assigned to you by Doctor McCoy as your main physician."

Spock finds that very unusual. "Indeed?"

"Yes," Dr. M'Benga hastens to agree as he shifts his glasses nervously. He fumbles with his PADD before he continues, "I, uh—I took the liberty of studying your medical records. I must say that while I have not encountered one with such mixed heritage as yours, I am experienced with both Vulcan and Human anatomy. I believe that should make up for something." He gives an uncertain shrug that does not inspire much confidence in Spock. "I was wondering, while I have you down here, if I may do a quick physical?"

"That will not be necessary, Doctor. I am of optimal health," Spock explains.

"Oh I don't doubt it, Commander Spock," Dr. M'Benga hastens to agree. "It's merely routine. Slightly mandatory even. It's for Starfleet record. I'm sure you're familiar with the protocol."

Spock is, which is why he forgoes any further argument. He glances briefly to Jim and recognizes that she has moved.

Doctor McCoy has managed to herd her to a biobed for a quick physical. She's sitting on the edge with her arms crossed defensively and an unhappy frown as Nurse Chapel scans her with a medical tricorder under the watchful eye and instruction of Doctor McCoy.

Jim is frowning at both of them as she flicks her blue eyes between them, pressing her lips together with firm stubbornness as Nurse Chapel attempts to pry answers from her while eyeing the results on her PADD.

Nurse Chapel repeats herself until she glares disapprovingly at Jim's uncooperative behavior.

Jim merely gives a shrug as her face flattens out into a more neutral expression.

Doctor McCoy rolls his eyes and touches Nurse Chapel's shoulder with quick and brief reassurance before he directs, what appears to be, a callous statement towards Jim.

This ultimately encourages Jim to answer, although reluctantly, and this answer is no doubt laced with sarcasm, if the way Doctor McCoy and Nurse Chapel laugh rather explosively is any indication.

"If you will follow me," Dr. M'Benga states in an attempt to grab his attention.

Spock inclines his head, prying his gaze away from Jim's deepening frown, and follows the nervous Doctor to a biobed that is several strides away from Jim's. He sits on the edge and places his palms over his thighs, remaining perfectly still as Dr. M'Benga commences his observation.

Dr. M'Benga waves his medical tricorder over Spock's chest, and then down to his abdomen, all the while muttering his satisfaction with the agreeable results that appear on the biofunction monitor behind Spock. He lifts the tricorder and it hovers beside Spock's left ear. "Have you had any recent ear infections?" Dr. M'Benga asks.

"I have not experienced the kind since the early days of my infancy," Spock simply states. In truth, he had frequenting problems with infections in his youth, and it was often a horrid ailment that delayed his schooling. He holds no want to experience such a kind ever again, which is why he is particularly careful with his bodily maintenance.

Dr. M'Benga nods with obvious absentmindedness. "How are the ship's temperatures treating you?"

Spock thinks to correct his statement, but it is a fleeting thought. He instead replies, "Though it is not ideal, I have adapted by seeking shelter within my personal quarters for a time until I have stored within myself the optimal amount of heat which will last me until I need to repeat the cycle again."

"You regulate your own body temperature?" Dr. M'Benga glances at him with wide-eyed curiosity.

"It is necessary," Spock says, and wonders why the Doctor would not be aware of such if he were the expert he claimed to be.

Dr. M'Benga gets flustered and says, "Of course. I'm sorry—I just thought that with you being of—well I didn't know if it was still a possibility," he explains.

Spock says nothing.

"Seventy-eight kilos," Dr. M'Benga mutters to himself. "Above average, but impeccable for your skeletal density." He lowers the tricorder again and moves it to and fro across Spock's chest and abdomen. "Perfect bilateral symmetry and no appendix," he notes aloud.

Spock remains silent all the while.

"Interesting," Dr. M'Benga says suddenly as he moves his tricorder up and down the length of Spock's arm. "You appear to have a thin epidermis, which means you actually posses sweat glands—not really a relative trait to Vulcans. Almost unnatural."

Spock stiffens slightly before he coerces himself to relax. "I am aware of my physical insufficiencies, Doctor," he says tightly.

Dr. M'Benga fumbles with his tricorder as he hastens to explain himself. "Oh no, Commander. I didn't—I wasn't implying that you were—that you have—you see it's just rather intriguing—but I can see how it might sound—I just haven't ever encountered—"

"_Really, Spock,_" Jim murmurs gracefully in Vulcan. She holds his gaze as she approaches them with a bright grin. "_You'll scare the poor man out of his wits if you act so stuffy._"

Spock staves off the urge to shudder in pleasure at the low and controlled tone of her voice as she addresses him in his native tongue. He finds that his body relaxes of its own volition as she briefly touches her cool fingers to his elbow. As a result, his shields waver slightly in an attempt to feel for her aura, but it instead pries a grimace from him when he is suddenly assaulted with Dr. M'Benga's fluctuating emotions. He punctures his senses once more and concentrates on the blunt curves of Jim's ears in order to regain adequate awareness.

When he does, he replies (in Vulcan), "_It was not my intention to make him feel uncomfortable. I do not enjoy these exams._"

"_Yeah, you and me both,_" Jim murmurs as she crosses her arms and cocks her head. She looks to Dr. M'Benga, who is watching them with growing interest, and she says, in English, "Well don't mind me. Keep going. I'll make sure he doesn't rip you apart or anything."

Spock wants to communicate how invalid it would be to assume that he would use methods of violence to turn aside his discomfort, but he is aware that Jim seeks to get a rise out of him as she has countless times before. So he says nothing.

Dr. M'Benga, however, makes an undignified sound and looks considerably worried before he clears his throat. "_It is fine,_" he replies in heavily accented Vulcan. The language sounds foreign and unnatural on his tongue. "_You don't have to switch languages with me. I can understand perfectly_."

"_I probably should have known,_" Jim says as her mouth twists thoughtfully. "_Bones mentioned you spent some time on Old Vulcan._"

Dr. M'Benga nods before he turns to Spock. "_Would you be more comfortable if I conversed with you in this way, Commander?_" he asks.

Spock prefers to communicate with Jim in his native language. This is not what he says. He replies, "It is of no consequence, Doctor. I have no want for comfort. You may address me in the manner you wish."

Jim rolls her eyes.

Dr. M'Benga shifts his glasses with a relieved expression. "I have a few more things to check and we'll be finished," he promises unnecessarily as he steps forward again. He pulls out a pair of blue latex gloves and puts them on. "If you will open your mouth, please."

Spock does and keeps his gaze forward.

Dr. M'Benga presses his index fingers inside carefully, and with the aid of a penlight, notes that Spock has all twenty-eight teeth. "Flex your jaw please," he requests and he makes a sound of satisfaction when Spock does. "Mandibular movement is within normalcy." He pulls his fingers away and removes his gloves before he aims his penlight at Spock's eyes. "Look to the left."

Jim watches with unconcealed curiosity.

"To the right." Dr. M'Benga watches the movement carefully. "Up." He leans a bit closer. "Down."

Spock looks at the Doctor's shiny black shoes. He reasons that by the condition they must be new.

"You can look forward," Dr. M'Benga says as he shines his penlight right into Spock's right eye. "Blink your inner eyelid for me."

"You have an inner eyelid? No way," Jim hisses excitedly and she gathers closer, imposing upon his personal space so as to catch a glimpse. She gets so close that her wide and curious cerulean blue eyes are all he can see.

"_Jim._" Spock means to rebuke her behavior but his tone reflects a certain receptivity to her decreasing proximity.

Jim picks up on it right away and her blue eyes briefly catches his, and something fond and mischievous begins to twist in them.

Spock spends a moment theorizing what actions such a look might incur.

"Um, Captain Kirk," Dr. M'Benga mumbles. "I need to be able to see."

Jim merely hums thoughtfully as her mouth slowly curls and her eyes roam Spock's face with quiet hunger. She pulls away and her eyes take in the rest of him with carnal calculation before she flips her ponytail over her shoulder as she spins on her heel and simply walks away.

Spock follows her with his eyes as she joins Doctor McCoy, who is carrying out his own exam of Lt. Commander Giotto.

"Commander Spock, please," Dr. M'Benga implores. "We are almost done. Please blink your inner eyelid for me."

Spock complies.

Dr. M'Benga clicks his penlight off with a satisfied nod. "Thank you," he says.

Spock inclines his head as he moves to stand.

Dr. M'Benga hastens to ask, "You and Captain Kirk are bonded correct? Could I perhaps study—well, not study but observe your more personal interactions? I am on the verge of publishing a comprehensive dissertation to a medicinal periodical."

Spock pauses before he levels the Doctor with a neutral gaze. "_Dr. M'Benga, while your profound knowledge of Vulcan anatomy affords you particular information, it does not warrant excessive meddling_," he coolly replies in Vulcan.

Dr. M'Benga gulps. He says, "_I—forgive me. I didn't mean to impose. I just—well I was surprised to find that you have yet to experience the Time of Mating by what I picked up from the implications of your chart. And I have been studying Vulcan anatomy for quite some time—my research is on the verge of irrefutable accuracy. With that being said,_ _I am concerned that should it occur, you will—_"

"_Please refrain from offering advice on matters you have no authority over,_" Spock interjects curtly. "_You will excuse me._" He departs without another word and catches Jim's eye as he moves to exit the medical ward.

Jim quickly gives Doctor McCoy a goodbye by striking his back with her open palm. He stumbles forward with a scowl and she smiles as she walks away. She convenes with Spock in the hall and assesses him with a thoughtful face. "You know, you could've said hello or nodded or acknowledged Bones in some kind of way," she remarks lightly.

Spock begins to walk towards the turbolift so that they may continue their rounds. "I do not believe such an exchange would be welcomed by Doctor McCoy. He has made his dislike towards me plain," he states as he tucks his hands against his lower back.

Jim snorts and shakes her head. "Don't be silly. He loves you with all his grumpy southern heart. You just have to give him a chance," she insists. Softly, almost timid, she adds, "I would—appreciate it." And with that, she speaks no more on the subject matter.

Together they spend the remainder of the day going from deck to deck and inspecting the Enterprise's readiness for priority excursion.

Spock's attention is unavoidably divided. He considers the nature of her earlier words and inevitably decides that she was embellishing for the sake of instilling a sense of false confidence in a future approach and prompt him to initiate a civil altercation with the surly Doctor. He gathers that her reasoning for doing so is the significance that both he and Doctor McCoy pose in her life. She is, perhaps, not comfortable isolating her time between them so prudently. The logical course of action would be to place his reservations aside and accommodate her friendship with Doctor McCoy so that she does not feel divided.

There is no certainty of how Doctor McCoy will receive his efforts at camaraderie, but for Jim, Spock is willing.

888

At approximately 1400 hours, Spock and Jim sit down and enjoy an afternoon meal together.

Spock advises Jim to sit while he moves to retrieve the appropriate sustenance for the two of them. He stays cautiously vigilant as he decides on a meal for Jim, picking one that will satisfy both her nutritional needs as well as her personal taste. He selects a Vulcan broth for himself before he returns to the booth that Jim has elected and he sits across from her, placing her in his full line of sight.

Jim places her PADD facedown and thanks him as she slides her tray closer.

Spock watches with quiet amusement as Jim attempts to find a balance between speaking and eating. She has a small bowl of pasta laid out on a tray before her, which she continues to stab with her fork after each bite previously made. Her enthusiasm and joy of being on the Enterprise blankets her with overwhelmed zeal. It enlivens her blue eyes with perceptible joy and her hands gesture with wide sweeps to parallel every distinct term her soft voice makes.

Spock is acutely aware of how her neatly trimmed bangs fall into her eyes, and the way she spins her fork in her bowl of pasta until she has an intermediate amount wound around the silver utensil before she lifts it to her continuously active lips. He is conscious of how she takes brief moments (forty point eighty-three second moments) to trap the head of the utensil in her mouth and smile around it at him as her blue eyes reflect the very smile pressed to her pink mouth. He catalogues the attribute as one she uses when being the focal point of his attention pleases her, and that in turn offers him gratification.

"—and anyway, I just thought, 'Well that's weird', because in all honesty it _is _weird. I mean who goes around licking toilet seats? You might as well tongue-kiss a doorknob or something," Jim says with a bothered frown before she pushes her tray to his side of the table. "But anyway, Chekov says that they found his cousin like two towns over and they managed to return him to the mental facility he came from, but I said that they should put him in a better one with firmer security because it obviously wasn't too hard for him to escape in the first place."

"That is, perhaps, the better alternative," Spock agrees, watching as she stands and moves to his side. He shifts further into the booth to accommodate her and she leans into his side. The weight of her body is lightly firm, and he places his hand between her shoulder blades to press her closer.

Quietly, Jim says, "Is this okay with you? I don't want to make you uncomfortable. I know that Vulcans aren't too big on public displays of affection, and I know that it's different when we're with friends and family or alone. But—I don't know. You'll tell me if it bothers you? I know I can be too affectionate sometimes and even more with you. I tend to forget that I might be pushing you out of your comfort zone and I—"

"Jim, you need not worry," Spock replies lowly. "Your touch is not unwelcomed and it is not uncommon among my people when two individuals who share a unique link engage in physical contact. I am confident that you are intuitive to my temperament, and you will not impose upon me anything I would not be receptive to."

Jim turns her head away from him but he still witnesses the pleased smile that passes over her lips before it dampens into a content grin. "I think we'll be launching soon. Everyone is almost here," she remarks as she looks around at the steadily crowding Mess Hall.

Spock has, as well, noted the increase in persons aboard the Enterprise, and by his estimation, the ship will have accumulated its entire company within two hours. He reports as much to Jim.

"Awesome. Hopefully by then Admiral Barnett will notify us of what our assignment is," Jim says and she perks up against him and resumes eating. She coughs and turns red.

"Jim, please pace yourself."

"Yeah, I—" Cough. "I get that!" Cough. Cough. "Dear _Lord,_ that was a big piece of broccoli." Cough.

Spock places his cup of water in her hands and kisses her temple before he reaches for his PADD and works through a surge of unassuming projects.

They finish their meal in comfortable silence for the next thirty-six minutes and ninety-point-five seconds before they part ways.

Jim presses a kiss to the tip of her index finger before she touches it to his nose with a wink. She then ventures off to find Rand to assist him in accounting for all the items listed in the cargo manifest.

Spock locates Dr. Cruise and Cadet Kalomi, and together they do a standard procedure of rounds to all the science lab and commune with all science personnel. Their final destination brings them to the botany labs where Dr. Cruise's staff welcomes him with a boisterous amount of enthusiasm. Spock is aware that they hold Dr. Cruise in the highest esteem.

Dr. Cruise is a sage man with a kindly nature. His compassion is boldly shown through his life's work and the relationships that he has built around him. He has accumulated many successes and contributed greatly to both the science and ethnobotany community.

Spock knows not a more qualified individual suited to their field than him.

Dr. Cruise is of certain age, however one would never know. He is, as Jim hasn't often termed an explicit amount of times, at the perfect pinnacle of health.

This presents Spock with a small form of confusion. For his current sighting of Dr. Cruise does not equate what he recalls, the man appeared to be not as apt and as lively as usual. There are deep bags under his dulled light brown eyes. His skin is waning thinly over his bones, causing them to protrude sharply, and it only emphasis his declining state of health.

Spock does not want to impose, but he is curious about Dr. Cruise, if not slightly concerned.

"Commander Spock," Cadet Kalomi says as she approaches him with a synthetic smile. Her eyes speak of an unknown displeasure. "I am so happy to finally be aboard the esteemed Enterprise. I can think of no better way to spend the last legs of my apprenticeship than under your supervision. Have we gotten word of our first assignment?"

"We have not," Spock simply states. "Have you settled into your quarters?"

"I did, indeed," Cadet Kalomi replies as she folds her hands together in front of her. "And I have to admit—they're much nicer than the dorm rooms back at the Academy. I'm grateful."

Spock inclines his head before his gaze returns to Dr. Cruise. "If you will excuse me, Cadet."

Cadet Kalomi hastens to stop him. "Oh, Commander. Just one more thing," she implores. "I was wondering if you might have dinner with me. I have a labyrinth of thesis ideas just rolling around in my brain and I could really use your guidance in picking one that will really stand out. You see, I'm trying for the Starfleet Graduate Grant and the topic must be related to my fields of study so—"

"Do you not have an academic advisor?"

Cadet Kalomi's mouth shrivels into an unhappy line and the displeasure in her eyes thickens. She straightens and says, "Yes. I do."

"Then I suspect you will receive superior guidance in terms of the nature of your endeavors," Spock blankly recommends.

Cadet Kalomi nods briskly and does not try to stop him when he leaves.

As direct as his words may have been, had he truly been her only point of reference, he would have still declined. He understands that Jim does not enjoy the time he utilizes with the Cadet, nor is he wholly unaware of her Machiavellian nature. The logical course of action to take would be to limit his interaction with Cadet Kalomi to absolute pedagogic and methodical exchanges.

Dr. Cruise presents him with a tired smile as he approaches. He is leaning against one of the nursery tables with an unsteady hand. "It is nice to be back, is it not?" he asks as his eyes glance around. There is strong sense of regret and nostalgia in his expression. "I had wondered if I might get a moment of your time. With all the young ones about, I didn't want what I am to say to fall on curious ears."

"If it pleases you, we may retire to your office," Spock suggests and watches with a slight frown as Dr. Cruise struggles to walk there.

Once inside, the door hisses shut behind them, and Dr. Cruise lowers himself behind his work desk with a grimace. "I am," he starts, removing a handkerchief from the top drawer of his desk and swabbing his damp forehead. "Merely a man. I have so many plans I have yet to fulfill. And now I find that time has been stolen from me."

Spock sits on the other side of the desk and watches as Dr. Cruise leans back tiredly in his chair. "You are ill," he decides, knowing the truth as he sees it.

"And you are observant as ever," Dr. Cruise returns with a thin smile. "But no less correct. Unfortunately."

Spock says nothing. He is processing the ominous state of things—searching for an answer he has yet to connect a question to. He considers Dr. Cruise his friend. How ill-fated it is that such an unassuming man as he should suffer.

"It was sudden," Dr. Cruise goes on to explain. "And rare I'm told. There is not a doctor that can quite understand what can be blamed for my rapid deterioration." He smiles grimly. "That is what it is, yes? Deterioration." His smile wanes into a sorrowed frown. "I'm told I have six months before—" He pauses—speaks no more. Dabbing his forehead with his handkerchief, he appears confused and troubled.

Spock comprehends well enough. He is grieved by this news. "Doctor McCoy is—"

"A highly skilled young man," Dr. Cruise supplies with a sad grin. "I am aware, Commander. Yet I cannot muster the enthusiasm to trouble his mind with my dilemma. He would only tell me what I have already heard countless times before. It is not my wish to hear it again."

Spock's fingers curl in his lap and his shoulders sit in an indeterminate line.

"I trust you with this information, Spock," Dr. Cruise says, softly, almost wistful. "You are my friend and have been for the longest of time. I have known you since you first enlisted, and I have always kept a watchful eye on your progress because I saw your marvelous potential."

Spock remembers soundly how Dr. Cruise frequently displayed singular interest in his academic career, whereas many others had not. And when the time came for Spock to meet the requirements of his practicum, Dr. Cruise volunteered without delay, mentoring Spock during his active service with the USS Kelvin in the vessel's ladder years. He challenged Spock and encouraged him—which is why, in turn, Spock petitioned for his presence aboard the Enterprise. Dr. Cruise had accepted it with ease as he did with all things, not minding in the least that he shared a rank with his former pupil. He is a gracious man.

"Perhaps you may allow me to research the symptoms of your condition," Spock offers.

Dr. Cruise shakes his head. "All I require of you, Spock, is that you help me maintain my privacy. I fear my work ethic may decline in the oncoming months. If anyone should ask, well, I would rather you say that I am preparing to retire. It is—true in some ways. They do not need to know the worrying details."

Spock lowers his gaze to the nameplate on Dr. Cruise's desk.

"Now, on to different matters," Dr. Cruise says and he begins to describe the various projects within his tenure.

Spock engages him with focused questions, but try as he may, his mind is not at ease.

Dr. Cruise does his best to conceal his burgeoning exhaustion, but by the way his hands shake and his skin turns a sickly yellow, this is a vain endeavor. He pauses their discussion long enough to procure a cup of water and he rubs at the corner of his eyes, grimacing as though in pain.

Spock suggests that he visits sickbay out of trepidation.

Dr. Cruise is reluctant but he eventually excuses himself to do such.

In his absence, Spock oversees the various tasks of the botany labs.

This is where Jim finds him. There is a bewildered frown bearing down the more striking features of her face. She approaches him and says, "We've got a bit of a situation."

Spock lifts a brow in question.

"Just—come with me. Its better if you see for yourself." Jim blows her bangs from her blue eyes as she directs him to the office previously occupied by Dr. Dehner.

Spock follows Jim into the room and pauses when he is met with the sight of an Orion female with curly red hair and bright smile. It takes only a nanosecond for Spock to place her face.

It is Gaila.

"Okay, so, I'm not crazy right? You see her too?" Jim asks, sounding slightly panicked.

Spock frowns as he flicks his gaze between them. "Cadet Gaila—I was unaware you were assigned to this ship."

"Oh it's Doctor Gaila now," Gaila corrects with cheerful voice. "And as I was trying to explain to Jim before she high-tailed it out of here—I have recently completed my certification and I am not dead."

Jim sputters. "But—but—"

"For the love of the Tong Beak Nebula!" Gaila exclaims as she places her hands on her hips. "How many times do I have to specify that it was not me who boarded the USS Farragut? It was Gerna! And the fact that you humans think that we all look alike is insulting."

Jim sputters again. "Then where have you been all this time?"

"I went home to complete my residency," Gaila merely explains. "Now I have a Masters' in space psychology and life sciences! Which means I get to be the attending psychiatrist for your ship. Oh, Jim, isn't it wonderful?"

Jim stares wordlessly at her.

"You appear to be shocked," Gaila deduces before she picks up a journal resting on the small coffee table beside her knees. She clicks a sleek purple pen and continues, "Would you like to talk about all the emotions you're currently feeling? Joy. Confusion. Shock. Have I listed them all?"

Jim blinks before she laughs and throws her arms around the lively Orion. "God, Gaila. You sure know how to give someone a heart attack. I thought you were—but you're not." She pulls back abruptly, hands curled around Gaila's upper arms. "Does Nyota know? Why haven't you tried to contact us all the time?"

"She does know. I told her when I saw her an hour ago. Well she fainted, but after she regain consciousness I got right to the point," Gaila assures with a solemn nod. "And clearly you do not understand what a residency on my home world includes. I basically boarded all outgoing cargo ships and traveled from planet to planet, treating patients whom my predecessor dictated was in need of such. It was rather insightful and very hands on. So when would I have had time for a quick chat?"

"Yeah, um, I guess not?" Jim replies with a growing frown. "But how were you assigned to my ship without me knowing about it?

"Oh, that. Well I simply asked."

Jim stares. "You suck at explanations."

Gaila shrugs before she smiles brightly. She turns to Spock and says, "Commander Spock, it is so nice to see you. Have you and Nyota bonded yet?"

Jim makes a choked sound.

Spock doesn't pay heed to it. "We are no longer in a relationship. She is married to our Chief Engineer."

"What? She's married?" Gaila squeals and Spock winces, as does Jim. "Oh. Pardon." She smiles sheepishly. "Oh, but, Nyota didn't say. Well, I didn't exactly stick around to find out. I was too busy trying to look for you, Jim. Oh but I did see the ring on her finger. I just assumed—hm, well I suppose not." She makes a thoughtful face as she peers at him. Her expression shifts suddenly and her lips curl in a coy grin. "_Ah, _that explains it," she drawls as she returns her gaze to Jim. "You've got his pheromones all over you, I should have known. I just assumed it was because you two work in such close proximity of each other and that can tend to happen, but there's an edge to this scent. He's _claimed_ you."

Jim grows a curious shade of red. "You can _smell _tha_—_you know what? I don't even want to know." She shakes her head and crosses her arms. "And yes, Spock and I are together. We're also kind of accidently engaged too."

"You share a shallow link," Gaila cleverly deduces. "Which is surprising since the chemistry between you two is so strong. Oh but its only a matter of time." She shrugs happily. "Are you trying for children?"

Jim splutters.

"Well, Jim, your body is utterly wrecked with all the welcoming signs. You're ovulating as we speak."

Jim smacks Gaila's journal out of her hands.

Gaila gapes. "_Jim! _That was uncalled for!"

"Your _face _is uncalled for."

"Oh how mature."

"Your _face _is mature."

"I'm not playing this game with you."

"That's not what your mom said last night."

"You utter _child_."

Jim opens her mouth to no doubt reply with something that would only further cement Gaila's opinion when her communicator chimes. She narrows her eyes at Gaila but retrieves the device. "Kirk here."

"_Captain,_" Nyota replies, voice filled with urgency. "_I've got a priority transmission awaiting you._"

Jim perks up. "Patch it through to my Ready Room."

"_Right away. Uhura out._"

"She kept her maiden name? How boring," Gaila remarks as she crosses her arms.

Jim snorts before she approaches Spock, who has been quietly observing their curious exchange. "We better go see what that transmission is," she says.

Spock inclines his head and follows her lead.

"Don't think we're done, Jim! I will corner you if I have to!" Gaila yells after them. "That goes for you too, Spock!"

"Blah, blah, blah," Jim mutters, but her mouth curls with a pleased grin.

Spock wonders if she is not relieved to know that Gaila is alive, despite her contradictory behavior.

They arrive at the Captain's Ready Room and Jim situates herself behind her work desk as Spock stands to her immediate left.

Jim turns on her desk monitor and Fleet Admiral Marcus's somber face fills up the screen. "Admiral Marcus, sir," she says with a tone of perplexity.

Spock tucks his hands behind him as he wonders at the Admiral's appearance as well.

"Don't sound so surprised, Ms. Kirk," Admiral Marcus says with a wry smirk. "You're not in any trouble." He continues, "I'm here on official business. Admiral Barnett is otherwise preoccupied, but I also felt that these orders were best received directly from me."

Jim nods wordlessly and offers him her full attention.

"Some time ago," Admiral Marcus continues, quite vaguely. "Starfleet gave the crew of the USS Kelvin the go ahead to survey a unique list of class M planets. These planets showed signs of a potential expansion of life and eventually the establishment of civilization. I've forwarded this list to you and your Commander. I want you to survey and create solidarity with these unnamed cultures. Find out all that you can about them and document their receptivity to joining our assembly. Once you have gained their allegiance, return to the rendezvous point for further instruction. This point of contact will be Babel. Your data and documentation will then be examined during a conference held to determine these planets' admission to the Federation. If all goes well, these civilizations will be cemented as allies and their namesakes will be endorsed." He flicks his gaze to Spock briefly, then away and he continues, "Because most of these species are in the first stages of civilization, I suggest you act delicately. Get them used to the idea that there is a whole big universe out there and that while we come in peace, others may not. Allude to the threat of the Romulan and Cardassian and Klingon Empire if you must.

"Send down an away team compromised of your best security to assess any possible threats. If there isn't, send a geological survey team to cognize the atmosphere, and lastly, send yourself, along with your Communications Officer and your Commander to initiate contact and negations. The rest is fairly simple." He adds, "Any questions?"

Spock has several, but he understands that they will not be well received.

Admiral Marcus is a man of willful determination. Any attempts to dissuade him from this course of action will be futile.

"What if they do pose a threat?" Jim asks. "What if we aren't kindly welcomed?"

"Pack it up and move on," Admiral Marcus merely remarks, unconcerned. "We've got no time to court an unfriendly. It's a waste of time and we can't afford to lose any of our men to them. That being said, I want you, especially, to be careful. You'll be acting as a figurehead, and if they think they can cripple us by eliminating you, they will."

Spock stiffens at the threatening prospect these missions will pose towards Jim. It causes his disquietude with the circumstance to accrue to an unnerving quantity.

"Understood, sir. I'll take every precaution," Jim vows, but it lacks legitimacy.

Spock is aware that Jim possesses depraved self-preservation. He will have to engender it by ensuring that Jim capitalizes every probable deterrent.

"Good. You have your orders," Admiral Marcus says. "Your first planet will be Armus. I've forwarded all the classified information logged by the crew of the USS Kelvin. I advise you to study it carefully. If you leave now, you should make it there in due time. Good luck."

Jim nods shortly and the connection ends. She sighs and leans back in her seat. "Okay," she says before she stands and faces him with confident shoulders. "I need you to compile a mission statement that outlines the more important details of our orders, the planet, and if possible, its inhabitants. Then I want you to send out a notification for a meeting in Briefing Room One to all the departmental heads. I want them there within the next hour," she instructs. "In the meantime, I'll round up the gamma shift crew and oversee the takeoff sequence."

"Very well, Captain," Spock responds and gives her room to pass him. He follows her out and they cross the bridge to the turbolift.

Spock ventures to his personal quarters to change into his science uniform before he seats himself behind his work desk to assemble a report for the departmental meeting while notifying all its intended participants.

By the time he reaches Briefing Room One, it's suitably occupied.

Yeomen Rand is laying out a spread of food and drinks, which many indulge in.

Spock ventures to the head of the conference table and stands alongside the view screen, synching his PADD with it, as well as all the other devices in the room.

When Jim enters, fully dressed in her captain's uniform, hair in a single braid, there comes a hush over the room as they snap to attention and everyone pins her with an alert gaze. She says, "At ease. You all can sit."

They do.

"As you all may know, we've been assigned our first scouting mission by Fleet Admiral Marcus. He was very specific about what he wants us to accomplish and how he wants us to accomplish it," Jim explains before she looks to Spock. "Commander Spock. If you will."

Spock straightens under the brunt of their attention and he clarifies, "In 2233, the USS Kelvin came across a class L planet, which is believed to have, within the last seven years, evolved to class M. This planet is the ninth inhabited planet of the Armus system, and has therefore been labeled as Armus IX. The geological survey team of the USS Kelvin noted that the environment was an eroded landscape of rock and sand, but there was a remarkable amount of water and oxygenic gas, granting at the time the fluctuating temperatures made the sustainability of life unviable. You will also note that a recent analysis, by way of sensor scans, indicates a concentrated increase in planet activity not pertaining to the terra formation. Also, the geological survey team of the USS Kelvin reported sightings of an unknown black malicious liquid. Tricorder scans could not register what the substance was composed of. As a consequence of their investigation of it, they found that it was capable of enveloping Humanoids and incorporating them into the liquid, where they would remain conscious.

"They lost two of their security officers to the liquid, and were unable to extract them, even under phaser fire." He directs his gaze to Lt. Commander Giotto. "Do not take this aspect of the report lightly, Mr. Giotto. As you lead your team to assess the initial threat of this planet, I would recommend you remain vigilant, lest any of you or your party fall prey to it."

"Will do, sir," Mr. Giotto says with a solemn nod.

"We should arrive to the Armus system by 2300 tonight," Jim reports. "I think your best bet is to go then, Mr. Giotto, while you are under the cover of darkness. Unless you wouldn't prefer it?"

"No, Captain. That'll do just nicely," Mr. Giotto approves.

"Good. Based on what you find or don't find, we'll send Dr. Cruise and a party of his choice to do a geological survey of the area we read the most life signs from. After which, I will accompany Commander Spock and Lt. Commander Uhura in a first attempt of contact. We can hope for the best, but I want everyone to be prepared for the worst. If you have any questions or comments, you can give them to either Commander Spock or me. If you understand what is expected of you, then you're all dismissed. Please report to your stations."

No one lingers. They all disperse.

Spock accompanies Jim to the bridge. After a brief exchange with Ensign Hannity, he situates himself at his station and commences monitoring the ship's activity, as well as querying the ship's computer for additional information that may be of use to their mission. Out of the corner of his eye, he watches Jim travel from station to station in a routine inspection. He straightens when she approaches him.

"How are we looking over here?" Jim asks as she studies his console and his monitor screens. She specifically eyes the multidimensional radar and space region observer with particular interest. "I know everything is more progressive than it was before."

"I find the altercations agreeable," Spock merely replies without inflection. His pale hands move over his console while he levels his gaze with the readings that appear on his monitors.

Jim makes a thoughtful sound as she watches him work in silence. She leans closer, and he picks up a subtle scent from her skin that smells of his own body chemistry entwined with hers. It is a bit distracting. She says, "Oh look there." She indicates with her pointer finger to his left screen monitor, which is full of astrophysical frequencies. She peers at it curiously. "An ion storm?"

"Indeed," Spock confirms as he magnifies the readings. "It appears to be forming with lethargy."

"Anything we have to worry about?"

"Negative, Captain. It will not interfere with the ship's course. I suspect it will linger on the northwest borderline of the Cardassian Union. We, however, are traveling southeast. Our paths will not meet."

Jim nods in satisfaction before she pulls away. "Okay, well tell me if you see anything we _should _worry about." With that, she walks away and sits in her captain's chair. "Mr. Sulu. Mr. Chekov. How is the ship driving for you?"

"Amazing, Keptin!" Chekov exclaims as he sends Jim an awed grin from over his shoulder. "The warp capability is simply amazing!"

"It's fast, Captain," Sulu agrees. "Faster than what we had before. Faster than anything they've got in space now, I'd wager."

"You just be sure you steer my girl correctly," Jim retorts, tone laced in amusement. "I don't need you crashing into anything just because you have a _need_ for _speed_."

Mr. Sulu snorts, as though the intention of Jim's words contained a double entendre.

They arrive to Armus IX at exactly 2300 hours, which is five hours after their initial departure.

Spock accompanies Jim to the Transporter Room, where they observe Lt. Commander Giotto and six other security officers ready themselves by securing fully equipped holsters onto their waists.

Mr. Sulu and Mr. Chekov join them a moment later, relieving the officers behind the transporter console and taking their place.

"Alright," Jim says as she crosses her arms and watches as the security officers saunter onto the transporter pad. "I want you guys to keep up a constant communication with each other. Mr. Sulu and Mr. Chekov will be monitoring your activities, and they'll be listening in on your conversations as well. If you get turned around, they'll help you out. Most importantly—keep safe, keep moving, and keep talking."

"Aye, Captain," they respectfully affirm.

Jim nods, and she appears a little reluctant to see them go. Her blue eyes are anxious and the line of her shoulders is tense. She raises her hand and gives Mr. Sulu and Mr. Chekov a wordless gesture.

Lt. Commander Giotto and his team disappear in a cyclone of white light.

"We've put them down by the river. A point of contact they can remember," Mr. Sulu reports as they watch the thin transparent wall, which is also a vast view display of geographical readings. "Don't worry, Captain. We'll keep an eye on them."

"I'm not _worried_."

"You look a little worried, Keptin," Mr. Chekov insists.

"I'm leaving now. Keep me updated," Jim scoffs and gives them a slight wave before she gestures to Spock.

Spock walks with her and together they travel to their adjacent personal quarters.

Jim tours his first, eyeing the general space and furniture before she walks through their shared bathroom to her own.

Spock seats himself behind his work desk and begins to research the symptoms he observed of Dr. Cruise. He utilizes the Vulcan Science Academy's rather encrypted database. This endeavor brings about rather vast and numerous results. He is sinking into the epicenter of his research when Jim returns to him, clad in nothing but transparent dark purple lingerie that matches her lipstick.

It breaks his focus without difficulty.

Jim sits on the edge of his desk to his immediate right and she leans back on her elbows, crossing her long legs and grinning at him with wicked intent. "You know," she drawls as she watches him with gleaming blue eyes. "Two weeks have come and gone. Which means that you and I have had to endure fourteen days of PG13 touching." She sits up and reaches behind her for the clasp of her bra. "Now this is just a suggestion, but, why don't we break our no sex streak?" She stands and slips off her bra before dropping it in his lap. "_Or_ if you're not interested and whatever you're doing on that PADD of yours is more intriguing than what I'm trying to offer, then I'll just take care of myself."

Spock swallows as she slides off his desk and walks around to his bed. He watches, raptured, as she crawls to the middle and lies on her back, shifting her hips to remove her underwear.

Jim slides them slowly across her tan thighs, past her knees and kicks them to the floor with her feet. She inserts her middle fingers between her purple lips and swallows them down, pulling them out slowly before pushing them in again and again until she releases them with a wet sound. Her middle fingers glisten and she lifts her legs, pressing her knees to the rosy buds of her breasts. Her hand disappears between her legs and her middle fingers sink inside of her. She exhales a content sigh as she rolls her hips against her hand while her back arches from the bed and her thighs quake.

"_Oh_—" The groan slips out, and Spock's hands clench around the edge of his work desk when he realizes she's speaking in Vulcan. She presses her fingers deeper inside of herself and her hips jerk before she makes a frustrated sound. "_Not—it's not—not enough. Spock, please…_"

This is all Spock can endure. His PADD lays forgotten on his desk as he joins her.

His sinks to his knees at the edge of his bed and curls his fingers around her hips, dragging her down until the inside of her ankles lightly brush the pointed tips of his ears. He catches her blue eyes and growls, in Vulcan, "_You are mine to please. I will be enough for you, in anyway you would have me. Do not forget this, Jim._"

Spock holds her gaze as he removes her fingers and replaces them with his tongue, relishing her choked cries as he savors the way he can make her thighs tremble just so.

888

**CORRESPONDENCE STARDATE 2254  
CHIEF OF SECURITY BARRY L GIOTTO VIA USS ENTERPRISE  
CAPTAIN JAMES T KIRK OF USS ENTERPRISE**

_Captain Kirk,_

_We've scouted and covered a majority of the area, and have come across no feasible threat nor any species indigenous to the planet. We've given Dr. Cruise and his staff the go ahead to commence their examination of the environment and everything therein. I will forward a more detailed report once I've rested and refreshed myself._

_Giotto_

888

At 0800 hours, Spock stands with Jim in the Transporter Room with Dr. Cruise and his landing party. They have just returned from their excursion.

"The bionetwork was unlike anything I've ever witnessed," Dr. Cruise explains with great enthusiasm. "Surely you'll have to see for yourself. Though, try as we had, we could not locate the aboriginal creatures, but our tricorders picked up on their life signs. I believe they may be hiding." He continues, "In any case, there weren't any suggestions of hostility. They may just be surprised of our arrival, which may be the reasoning behind their intentional concealment. Perhaps they are a delicate species."

Jim nods as she climbs the transporter pad.

Nyota joins her, flanking to her left.

Dr. Cruise continues, "Their wildlife is plentiful and there are clear indications that they may be herbivores. So rest assured—they won't be having you for dinner."

"Did you come across a village or anything of that nature?" Jim questions as Spock flanks to her right.

"In the trees, Captain," Dr. Cruise answers. "They have various shelters and houses scattered all across the forest ceilings. As well as six different triangle temples made of crystallized stone. Each one of them contains an intricate network of tunnels that could possibly descend as far as the base of the temples. They are rather identical to the Incan pyramids found in Peru, which is all the more peculiar and quite indicative to the kind of culture they may have."

"Noted," Jim says with a smile. "Go rest up. I want you and your staff to write up a more detailed report when you get a chance. Forward them to Commander Spock."

"Aye, Captain. That I will do," Dr. Cruise vows. He appears to be slightly more rested than he did the previous day, though Spock reasons he could also be attempting to conceal his condition as best as he can.

Spock follows his departure with his eyes until Dr. Cruise and his staff are no longer in sight.

Yeomen Rand enters the room not long after and approaches the three of them with equipped holsters.

Spock gives a murmur of gratitude as he fixes it about his waist, and watches as Nyota and Jim do the same.

Jim says, "Energize" and they are lost to a vacuum of white light.

When they rematerialize on the surface of the planet, beside a river of green water, Spock notes the mildness of the temperature. It feels comparable to the late spring weather of San Francisco. It is cool, but Spock finds it tolerable nonetheless.

All of the vegetation, including but not limited to the foliage of the trees and the grass and the bushes, are varying shades of white.

Spock documents six differing hues as he follows Jim and Nyota into the thickness of the forest. His gaze lifts up and he perceives the outline of the treehouses Dr. Cruise alluded to. They are comprised of the same kind of white wood that each stalk of the trees encompasses.

Above them, the sky is a bright mantis green, much like the river had been, and the wind it smells of cooking salt and mint herbs.

"This is like Christmas without all the snow," Jim supposes as she stumbles over a branch.

Nyota reaches out and steadies her with an amused half-grin. "Watch yourself, Captain." She drops her hand and glances around. "And yeah, I guess you're right. It's pretty."

Spock grabs his tricorder and begins scanning the area, placing close attention to the readings. He pauses briefly when he hears a swarm of whispers, voices scattered to the wind–but as he turns to investigate, he does not find the source. He continues on after Jim and Nyota, who are shoving at each other with affable smiles.

As they pass through a brush of bushes, the disturbance causes a horde of green birds the size and width of a teacup to take flight. They fly in a circle, starting at their ankles and winding their way up in a cyclone of green.

Jim and Nyota jump, startled, and they both laugh in embarrassment as they watch the green birds scatter to the trees with riveted expressions.

Spock is particularly intrigued by the breathless joy that illuminates Jim's sumptuous features. There is such wonder in her blue eyes that it compels an urge in Spock to recite poetry.

Jim's gaze lowers and she looks at him with a soft smile before Nyota loops their arms together and drags her away with the amiable return of engaging conversation.

Spock hears whispers in the trees as he aims his tricorder again, but like before he does not find an explicit source. The life readings that accompany his scanning strengthen in a perplexing nature.

As they wind themselves deeper into the white forest, Jim and Nyota discuss possible ways to entice the aborigines into showing themselves. Nyota is particularly disapproving to Jim's suggestion of lighting a tree on fire, and Jim quickly admits that she was making a very poor joke.

Spock attempts to offer his input, but before he can, there comes a childlike cry and the life readings on his tricorder spikes.

Jim lifts her arm and uses it to stop Nyota in her tracks. "You heard that right?" she whispers watchfully.

Nyota frowns in confusion as she steps closer to Jim and glances around.

Spock surveys the area and waits for another indication. He tucks his tricorder into a pocket on his waist holster as he flanks Jim's other side.

The cry comes again, loud and intentional, directly ahead of them.

Jim moves to follow the sound but Spock frowns, curling his pale fingers gently around her elbow, and quickly says, "Captain, I am unsure if that is wise. I fear it may be a trap of some sort."

"Well, yeah," Jim says as she shoots him a small disarming grin. "Only way to know though, is to see what happens."

"Captain, don't be obnoxious," Nyota hisses with a disapproving scowl.

Jim does not roll her eyes, but it is a near thing. "There's nothing obnoxious about it really. We have phasers don't we?" she counters as she coils her small fingers around the handle of said phaser. She pulls it free and sets it to stun. "So how big of a threat can they be?"

Spock is not reassured, but he follows her lead and removes his phaser from his holster, as does Nyota. He keeps his gaze up for any indication of movement above their heads as they move forward.

The whispers in the trees come in hurried fluctuations, reverberating so loudly that is shakes the forest ceiling and causes a downpour of white leaves. To normal human ears, it would seem only like the wind, but Spock is aware that this is anything but.

The childlike whimpers become louder as they close in on the source. Eventually they spot as small naked child with burnt sienna skin, white eyes absent of pupils, sharp pointed teeth, and raven black hair that floats about it's head as though it were submerged in water.

Jim stops, and after some thought, she tucks away her phaser. "What do you think?" she asks. "Girl or boy."

Nyota stares at the small child. "Uh, well—female. It's not exactly hard to miss."

Jim snorts before she smiles at the child. "Can you understand me?" she asks the child. "Are you hurt?"

The humanoid child frowns and gives another piercing cry before she runs off.

Jim somehow takes that as a sign to follow, dashing after the child.

Spock and Nyota have no choice but to trail their unconventional captain.

The young native comes to a temple, sprinting up the numerous steps to the opening residing at the top.

Jim stops at the base of the pyramid with a measuring frown.

Spock holds reservations about the structure as well. But he also understands that it is only a matter of time before Jim decides to brave the unknown. "Captain, I must protest," he says.

Jim grins, quickly and fleeting, before it disappears altogether. "What? I haven't even said anything," she points out as she keeps her gaze to the top of the pyramid where the opening is.

"The child is the first of the species we have encountered. Therefore it stands to reason that you are considering the possibility that temple may hold the answers to their whereabouts. You are also gleaning the prospect that the child may be trying to lead us to her people or in need of assistance," Spock reasons and he is unsettled when Jim begins to climb the steps.

"You know me too well, Mr. Spock."

Nyota snorts wryly and shakes her head but she keeps up Jim's pace.

"Captain—"

Jim gently interjects, "Spock, it'll be fine. Both Dr. Cruise and Giotto said that there were no indications of threats. So I'm not all that worried. I'm not _naive, _but I'm not worried."

Spock reaches out to steady her when she trips on a step and he silently frowns. He gathers he will not be able to persuade her against this course of action. It is not worry that vexes him, but rather the unclear sense of what will await them once they reach the top. He would not see either Nyota or Jim hurt if there is a possibility that such a thing can be avoided.

Jim stops at the mouth of the open doorway carved into the framework of the crystallized pyramid. She yanks free her flashlight and aims into the darkness. "So," she drawls. "Shall we?" She enters without waiting for a reply.

Nyota looks to Spock with an expression of uncertain curiosity, but she shrugs lightly and reaches for her flashlight as well. "If you can't talk her out of it, I guess we'll have to join her and make sure your future wife doesn't get herself killed," she states, rather mirthfully.

"Indeed," Spock murmurs in agreement as he follows after Nyota. He has no need for artificial light. He can make out the intricate drawings and hieroglyphics on the walls as the tunnels begin to wind downward.

Nyota pays special attention to the symbols painted and carved into the walls with a thoughtful sound.

Spock keeps Jim within his sight as she leads the way, calling out for the humanoid child as though she expected a response. He is not quite sure she will receive one, but he doesn't discourage her against it nonetheless.

Jim stops abruptly, flashlight still posed at the ready and feet caught in the midst of a half step. "Uh oh," she says.

Nyota pauses and looks around quickly. "What? What? Why did you say 'uh oh'?" she asks.

"I can't move."

"_What?_"

"Please don't make me repeat myself."

Spock quickly studies the area around Jim in search of an explanation to her sudden paralysis.

Nyota and Jim's flashlights begin to flicker wildly.

"Okay, that's not good," Jim says.

Nyota mutters incoherently before she says, "So, don't panic—but I can't move either."

Spock means to shift his head towards her, but much to his confusion, the act becomes impossibility for him. He is immobile as well, and he cannot recall the exact moment he became this way.

Nyota and Jim's flashlight flicker three final times before they extinguish, blanketing them in darkness.

There is the grinding sound of stone sliding against stone, and the ground shifts underneath their feet.

Before Spock can make sense of it, they are falling, and then, he knows nothing.

888

Dr. Cruise woke from a fitful sleep. Nightmares had plagued him for the better part of three hours and it isn't until he remembers where he is does the nausea subside. There is a sharp splitting pain stabbing into his side and his head feels hot and full and dizzying.

He sighs as his sheets fall to his waist, and he runs a hand through his damp salt and pepper colored hair. He stands on shaky legs and ignores the continuing ache in his bones. It blossoms so strongly in his ligaments that it practically blurs his vision.

_It's getting worse, _Dr. Cruise thinks with bitter anxiety. He gets a glass of water before he sits at his desk with a weary sigh. He opens the top drawer and pulls free sedative, pressing the hypo into the side of his neck as he exhales in relief when the affects are immediate. He takes a few tentative sips of water before he rubs at the corner of his eyes.

He grabs his PADD and goes to the photo library where the snapshots of Armus lay in wait. He connects his device to his desk monitor screen and uses the database to setup a tangent search for anything else in the universe that might be similar to the ecosystem of Armus. The screen of his desk monitor flashes quickly with picture after picture after picture. And as it loads and finds correlating links, he drops his gaze down to his PADD again and begins browsing through the photos of the crystallized temples. Something rings a familiarity in him, and it's not until his desk monitor pings with the found results does it dawn on him what the nagging feeling is.

Dr. Cruise is struck with a sudden clarity as he skims through the results, and he stiffens in horror.

Wrong. He had been wrong.

Something about the white planet had been nagging at him ever since they arrived, and he couldn't quite pinpoint what it was. It got pushed to the back of his mind once he accompanied his staff down onto the surface of the planet, and his fascination won over. Truly, the ecology of the planet was unlike anything he'd ever seen.

And those crystallized pyramids. What a vision.

But his mistake was equating them to the Incan pyramids, when in actuality, they drew stronger resemblances to the Mayan pyramids.

This is not what filled Dr. Cruise with dread.

It was the fact that the whole of the circumstance was so damn similar to the Mayan civilization.

It clicked, all of it—the strange lack of aborigine presence, despite the evident signs of life and culture.

By God—they had sent the Captain and the Commander down into a Catch-22.

Dr. Cruise should have noticed sooner.

The planet hadn't evolved at all—it was the creature. The malicious entity that dwelled within had grown cleverly accustomed to visitors. And by the look of things, there have been plenty.

Dr. Cruise hastens to get dressed with the full intention of garnering the help of Mr. Giotto and his security staff.

The computer directs him right to the Transporter Room, which is already in an upheaval.

Mr. Scott and Mr. Giotto are peering at the readings on the virtual map displayed on the thin transparent screen.

Mr. Sulu and Mr. Chekov are furiously working the dials of the transporter console, steadily calling for Captain Kirk and Commander Spock and Lt. Commander Uhura.

Dr. McCoy is the one who spots him first. "Dr. Cruise! Just the man we're looking for," he says as he directs him to the transparent view screen. "We've run into a bit of situation."

"You cannot locate the Captain and company," Dr. Cruise concludes with a dawning sense of guilt and unease. "I was afraid this might be the case. It's an energy field, isn't it?"

Mr. Scott nods hastily. "Aye. Came out of nowhere. Coiled it's way around the stratosphere and firmed. Now even our best sensors can't pierce it," he explains.

"No one can be beamed up or down," Mr. Giotto goes on to clarify.

"We've got faint life signs, but we can't get in contact with them," Mr. Sulu adds. "It's static, both ways."

"This is going south, fast." Dr. McCoy makes an incomprehensible gesture. "So if you have any ideas..."

"We have to consider what we're dealing with," Dr. Cruise says.

"And what are we dealing with?" Mr. Giotto asks.

"A sentient planet with carnivorous tendencies." Dr. Cruise pauses and catches everyone's eyes before he continues, "To put it bluntly, gentlemen—a venus flytrap."

888

Spock awakes to find that he is cold and wet. Above all else, he is confused. He sits up and observes his surrounding and his confusion deepens when he sees that he is not in his bed. He's lying on his back at the base of a crystallized pyramid under a darkening green sky.

Peculiar.

Spock shifts into a sitting position and takes a moment to assess his physical health. He senses no cranial or bodily injuries, outside of a split lip and a bruised cheek, but those injuries are ones he had prior to his return to consciousness.

Even more peculiar.

His gaze turns downward and he observes his clothing, his brow furrowing when he notes that he is wearing a Starfleet uniform, and according to the end of his sleeves, he holds the rank of commander.

That, of course, is illogical. He is only eleven years old.

"Oh good. Pointy's awake," a voice says.

Spock stiffens and turns to the source of the sound. There are two Terran females standing to his far left along the edge of the white trees. The dark skinned female with soft brown eyes and waist-length braids smiles warmly at him while the female with fair skin, shiny yellow hair that stops right above her small shoulders, and impossibly blue eyes scowls at him.

"Well? Are you going to stare or are you going to get up?"

"Jim, be nice. He's just as confused as we are."

The one called Jim rolls her eyes and crosses her arms with an impatient scoff.

Spock stands and brushes himself off before he joins them. He notes that, like him, they are wearing Starfleet uniforms, but theirs is of a different color and rank. He recognizes the insignia on his blue shirt as significant to the science branch of Starfleet.

The dark skinned female is sporting a red uniform dress with a communications insignia.

Jim is wearing a gold uniform dress with a command insignia. She also appears to hold the rank of captain.

Peculiar.

Spock would not have classified her as a leader.

The dark skinned female breaks the prolonged silence by sticking out her hand. "I'm Nyota," she introduces.

Spock glances down at her hand and tucks his own behind him in a deliberate gesture. "I am called Spock," he replies shortly.

Nyota frowns before she drops her hand. "Oh, sorry. I forgot Vulcans don't shake hands," she admits and chews on her bottom lip.

Jim snorts. "They do. But it's like kissing," she explains and her grin turns gleeful when Spock flushes.

"How do you know this?" Spock asks, uncomfortable and fascinated by her knowledge.

Jim shrugs and goes on grinning with intriguing secrecy.

"How old are?" Nyota asks suddenly.

"I am eleven years old," Spock replies without looking away from Jim who holds his gaze with a challenging gleam swimming in her blue eyes.

"Cool," Nyota says. "I'm eight. And Jim is fourteen."

Spock gives Jim an appraising look.

Jim's grin shrinks slightly.

"This just keeps getting weirder and weirder," Nyota mutters to herself. "It's like that book I've been reading. Hunger Games."

Spock ignores her ramblings to ask, "Do you know how we came to be here or what this place is?"

"We're as lost as you," Nyota admits. "We woke up only ten minutes before you did. The last thing I remember is falling asleep curled up with my grandmother and my cousin Kenya. Jim says the last thing she remembers is falling asleep on her rooftop."

Spock lifts a questioning eyebrow. "You sleep on roofs? Is that not dangerous?"

Jim merely shrugs again as her grin disappears altogether. Her expression turns a little dark and she looks away.

Spock wonders at the sensation of disappointment that afflicts him from the loss of Jim's attention.

Peculiar.

Spock cannot shake a sense of familiarity that he feels towards both Nyota and Jim, even Jim moreover. Something in his mind is trying to unfold, but he is unsure of the reasoning behind it.

"What happened to your face?" Nyota asks as she studies him with curious brown eyes.

Spock does not understand what she means at first, but then he recalls. "I was in an altercation with my classmates."

"Really? Why? I didn't think Vulcans did that kind of thing," Nyota says.

Spock presses away the slight anger and grief that attempts to follow his explanation. "They are displeased by my mixed heritage. My mother is human."

Nyota's expression immediately turns sympathetic but Spock keeps his expression neutral.

Jim's blue eyes turn to him with a measuring look that is neither sympathetic nor remorseful.

Spock cannot decipher the expression.

"Jim suggested we head that way," Nyota says, haltingly. Her brown eyes are wide and watchful and innocuous.

"Why?"

"She thinks we'll find something useful if we do."

"What is her basis for this assumption?"

Jim crosses her arms over her chest and kicks a small rock with her left foot as her mouth purses in irritation. "Something happened to us, and whatever that was, it has something to do with why we're wearing Starfleet uniforms. So our best bet is to try and contact the ship we might have come from. We can't do that if we just stand here. We've gotta move around."

Spock is uncertain about this method of action, but there are very little options.

"We have to stick together," Jim maintains, and says nothing when Nyota steps closer to her. "We may be strangers to one another, but we're all our best chance of survival."

Spock flicks his gaze between Nyota and Jim with a sober expression.

Jim adds, "So that means if we run into anyone, you know, not sharing our colors—we have to lie. Got that?"

Spock frowns. "Vulcans cannot lie."

"Then I'm talking to the half-human part of you."

Spock looks at Jim sharply, and his frown deepens when he sees no form of hate or hostility in her illogically blue eyes. He relaxes his shoulders into an immaculate line as his uncertainty of this human girl grows all the more. But, above all things, he is disquieted by his urge to trust her at her word. Again, the sensation of familiarity unfolds in his mind in the most unsettling manner.

Jim takes his stony silence for a sign to continue on through the brush of the trees, heading an unknown direction. She walks with such confidence and determination that Spock is almost convinced she knows exactly what she's doing.

Nyota stays close by his side and talks animatedly about her love of languages and cultures. She lists all the languages she's mastered so far, most of them Terran languages, and she speaks on her desire to learn languages like Vulcan.

Spock does not dissuade her from this conversation—she is so young and untried. He has no wish to sully that with callous words or curt dismissals.

The walk is slightly difficult—the cultivation of the area is thick and untamed. Though they have yet to encounter wildlife, they still struggle with the obstacle of uneven and wet ground, as well as unidentifiable insects.

Spock is silently relieved when they finally reach a green river within an approximate amount of time. He watches as Jim tucks her yellow hair behind her blunt ears and stoops low at the river's edge, placing her tan fingers into the stream with a thoughtful frown.

Nyota glances around in search of something.

Spock ventures closer to Jim until there are four feet of space between them. He studies the green water and notes that this river is really shallow.

Jim stands and shakes her wet hand, sending droplets of water in Spock's direction.

Spock steps back as he feels the cold sensation of wet on his pale cheek and he sends Jim a disapproving gaze. He bottles his annoyance as Jim snorts and rolls her eyes.

"I think—" Jim stops abruptly as she looks up. "You see that. That's a ship. I think that's where we came from."

Spock and Nyota look up at the green sky. The outline of a vessel is easily seen.

"So now what?" Nyota asks.

"Now we wait." Jim sits on the edge of the riverbank and begins to remove her boots. She places her bare feet in the water and leans back on her elbows.

Nyota settles down beside her and watches the stream.

Spock ventures to a tree and sits at the base of it. He closes his eyes with the full intention of attempting a shallow level of meditation, striving to gauge and extinguish his more chaotic emotions in order to stabilize his wavering shields.

The next time he opens his eyes, the sky has darkened and Jim and Nyota are no where to be found.

Spock stands quickly and searches the area for any indication of where they might have gone, but in the gathering darkness, he finds none.

A soft whisper of leaves and a snap of a branch has Spock looking towards the white forest in apprehension. He waits for another sound, and when he gets one, he moves towards the source. He walks through the patch of trees and sees the outline of a woman. As he draws closer, he recognizes her immediately.

It's his mother.

She smiles at him, warm and inviting. She's wearing deep robes of grey and her small hands are folded together in front of her. "Come to me, Spock," she says.

"Mother?" Spock frowns as he ventures closer. "I do not understand. Why are we here?"

"We were meant to be here," she answers softly. "Come closer, Spock. Give your mother the pleasure of embracing you." She holds open her arms.

"What is this place?"

"Come."

"What is this place?"

"Come to me, Spock."

"Mother I—" Spock hesitates. "I confess that I am confused. Why will you not answer me? Are you not concerned that we are not where we should be?"

"I'll feel better once I have you in my arms," she insists. Her smile is tight and her hazel eyes are wrong. "Come to me. Now."

Spock stiffens and tucks his hands behind him. "Where is father?" he simply asks.

"Such a stubborn and disobedient little thing."

Spock does not move.

"You come here and you give your mother a hug," she growls and her face morphs with sharp angles. Her teeth lengthens into pointed tips, and her eyes bleed into a black and pupil-less. "Or perhaps I should come to you. Would you like that little prince?" Her voice has lowered several octaves.

Spock takes a step back as a twinge of anxiety unfurls in his gut.

She is not his mother.

* * *

_**Author's**** Note**_: _Been in the hospital. Not sure when next update will be. Please review in the mean time._


End file.
